Scale the Glass Mountain
by Cris
Summary: Jesse St. James gets a strange call while in L.A. regarding a certain dark-haired ingenue he's been unable to forget. But he's also angry - very angry. Can he manage to overcome the anger enough to find out what's wrong?
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Hi, duckies! Shh, I'm not supposed to be over here, I'm supposed to be finishing stuff for other fandoms. But this popped into my head and wouldn't get out, so here's the first short prelude. All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

**Scale the Glass Mountain**

Jesse stared idly at the unknown number lighting up the display on his phone. It was an Ohio area code, he knew that much. But why would anyone from Ohio be calling him, especially from an unknown phone number? He'd cut ties with everyone from Vocal Adrenaline after his senior year ended, making it very clear that he did not want remnants from his old life haunting him in California. And nobody from McKinley would be calling him; that was certain. Not unless it was to inform him that their sorry excuse for a school had finally raised enough money to hire that hitman to come after him.

Intrigued, Jesse accepted the call and raised his phone to his ear. "This is Jesse St. James," he said, plastering his voice with the brash confidence that had been drummed into him since he was a little child. Jesse St. James did not answer a phone with anything less than the utmost pride. Jesse St. James did not allow the other party to gain an upper hand. "Current and future star of stage and screen. If this is about a contract, please find the contact information for my manager. I don't deal with business crap myself."

There was a pause, then a low male chuckle. A comfortingly Midwestern voice said, "I can see why she'd like you."

Jesse stopped walking along the pathway that led to his dorm. He swung his heavy pack to the dusty ground, suddenly not feeling quite so confident. "Who is this?" he demanded. The voice was unfamiliar to him - generically male, with an accent that showed he had lived for some years in Ohio, though he had not been born there.

"I'm sorry," the voice said, and Jesse caught the river of tension that flowed through the words. This person clearly was going through something quite unpleasant. Jesse sighed inwardly. He hated other people's drama. It took away time he could be focusing on his own. "I'm sorry, Jesse. We're just so worried. Where are you? Is she with you?"

Jesse glanced at his fellow students wandering the campus, oblivious to what was going on with this conversation. He wondered if some nut job found his number and was messing with him. He'd heard stars often had problems like that. "I-I don't know what you mean," he said, trying to pitch his voice to something distant and professional. "Is _who_ with me?"

The voice on the other end sighed impatiently. "Rachel! My daughter, Rachel Berry. Where are you, Jesse? Please say she went to find you! She's been missing for four days, and nobody knows where she went."

* * *

Jesse St. James paced the dingy concourses of LAX, fury radiating through his system. Why was he here, anyway? Why was he about to board a cross-country flight in the middle of term, no clear idea as to when he'd be back?

Because of her, of course. Because every time a new dance partner rolled herself into his arms, he was instantly barraged by images of an infuriating little high school girl with the softest hair and biggest pipes he'd ever known. Because Shelby _fucking_ Corcoran's _fucking_ daughter had to go and tuck her cute little _fucking_ self under his ribcage, next to the heart he'd sworn he didn't need. She'd slid her tiny razor-sharp kitten claws into his beating _fucking_ heart, and even now - now, after he'd ordered her out of his life - she was still there, immoveable, no matter what he tried to do. He closed his eyes, he saw her. He opened a music book and heard her. Even things that shouldn't remind him of her did. Nobody here in LA dressed like Rachel, in her ridiculous knee socks and sweaters. And yet these multitudes of nameless blondes in their identical surfer chic wear reminded him of the dark-haired little irritating monster he'd left behind in Ohio. Or, rather, they reminded him of her absence, which was more or less the same thing.

Leroy Berry had been absolutely frantic on the phone. Jesse clenched his jaw and tugged a fist through his hair. When he found Rachel, he was going to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until he heard her little brains rattling like jingle bells in her skull. Shake her until she realized what she'd done to the men who had raised her, who cared more for her than she deserved. Jesse hadn't known what to do with a despondent father; his own had never shown more than mild irritation in Jesse's presence, that he could remember. Leroy bawled like a baby that his little princess was missing. Jesse muttered some choice curse words under his breath as he stalked toward his gate. Not even Rachel's parents thought she might be lost or kidnapped. She'd left no note - which rather surprised Jesse; he'd never known her to pass up a chance for melodrama - but everyone agreed that she had clearly run away. The Berry men just didn't know why.

Jesse didn't know why, either, but the difference was that he didn't care. He didn't need to know her reasoning to know exactly where she'd gone.

Okay, maybe not exactly, he revised quickly. But he knew the general area. There was only one place Miss Rachel Berry would ever leave home for, and if her fathers didn't know that, then they were bigger fools than he'd originally pegged them.

He'd met Hiram and Leroy exactly twice - once, to play the gentleman and officially ask them for their permission to date Rachel. It was the kind of gesture that kept him in good graces both with a girl and with her family, and he was old hat at these little tricks of the trade. The second meeting had been an awkward double date to the theater in Columbus, to watch inferior local performers absolutely skewer _Victor/Victoria_. Afterward, he'd gently put his foot down. You did not double date with parents, not even for free admission to a musical.

How Leroy got his number, Jesse didn't know. Part of him wished he'd gone through with his plan to change his number when he left Ohio, but he just hadn't gotten around to it. He didn't know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, now. Yes, Rachel was a hassle. One he didn't want to feel responsible for anymore. But this clean break with her clearly wasn't working. She was still inside him even though she hadn't tried to contact him since he smashed an egg on her head in the parking lot. And that just added insult to injury. She was a nothing at McKinley. Regardless of how little she deserved to be at the bottom of the heap, she was there. And yet she hadn't thrown a fit when he left her. She hadn't tried to cling, to keep him with her. He didn't understand it. No girl had ever left Jesse St. James, and only Rachel had ever let him walk away without a fuss. He'd been prepared for an epic tantrum to end all tantrums. But no. She'd just looked up at him with those big dark eyes - wounded puppy-dog eyes - and shook her head a little. "You promised me," she'd told him, her voice small. Not angry. Not offended. Just hurt and small.

Jesse clenched his hands as he strode down the jetway to the plane. He settled himself in a black first-class seat, hoping that nobody would sit next to him. He had one of those faces that made people want to talk, and he didn't want to talk to anybody right now. He didn't want to be Jesse St. James, the golden child, the good boy who was always ready with a wink and a smile. Right now, he wanted to seethe.

"Hey, hon," the stewardess said, and when Jesse looked up with a raised eyebrow she smiled conspiratorially and tried to hand him a cold brown beer bottle on a little cocktail napkin with the airline logo printed on it.

Jesse made no move to take the offered drink.

"It's on the house, sugar," the stewardess said, reaching it out further toward him. "Go on. You get a free alcoholic beverage in first class."

"I know that," Jesse said, still not moving to take the bottle. "I never fly coach. What _you_ may not know is that it's illegal to offer alcohol to anyone underage."

The stewardess slid easily into the row behind him to allow people to pass by. "You underage? You sure don't look it."

"Next time I'll get my mommy and daddy to pin one of those little "unaccompanied minor" tags on me," Jesse sneered, turning away. He stared out the little plastic window, anger swelling inside him at the stewardess's obvious attempt at flattery. Sometimes he cursed his pretty face. Shrugging himself deeper into the wide seat, he concentrated on watching the luggage being loaded onto the plane. He hadn't bothered to take more than a carry-on and his backpack; he hoped he wouldn't be staying long. At least the stewardess hadn't gotten a glimpse of his charming personality or his angelic singing voice. Jesse scowled at his own reflection in the window. He didn't feel very charming or angelic at the moment.

_Rachel_. It was such a normal name for such an abnormal person. There were so many fucking Rachels around, but only one was - and ever would be - just plain _Rachel_ to him. There would be Rachel Greens and Rachel Rays and Rachel McAdams' but the only _Rachel_ was _his_ Rachel. Rachel Berry. And she would be his Rachel until the day they died, no matter what happened between now and then. No matter if she got married and had a dozen kids - she'd always belong to him. He knew that now. He didn't like it, but he understood that that was the way it was going to be for him, for them. His heart spasmed as the plane began to taxi, inching toward the runway. Furious, he quashed the quivering feeling. Just because he wasn't able to get rid of her didn't mean he had to moon about it. He'd made his choice, and he'd chosen Vocal Adrenaline. Now he had to live with that choice.

But damned if he was going to let Rachel Berry ruin the lives of everyone who cared about her by running away.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Wow, I didn't realize how long it had been since I posted this! Sorry, I didn't mean it to take so long! Is anyone else as excited as me about the rumors that Jonathan Groff is returning to Glee soon?_

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

**Scale the Glass Mountain**

JFK was loud and dirty, filled with ten thousand different unpleasant smells and dozens of lilting, foreign languages. Jesse grimaced, ignoring the people hawking Bibles and panhandling boldly - illegally - inside the airport. He pushed his way through the glassy doors, exiting into dirty New York rain. Waving to a taxi driver who looked like he might hopefully speak at least a little English, Jesse slid onto the cracked vinyl of the cab's backseat and barked the intersection of his aunt's brownstone in Brooklyn.

"Going home?" the brown-skinned driver asked. At least he was understandable through the accent.

"I'm not much of a talker," Jesse said tightly, turning to stare out the window as the wet lights and dark, hunched people rolled by outside. It was past rush hour but not yet time for the family shows to end or the club scene to really get going, and traffic was light by New York standards. Jesse couldn't care less. This whole fucking day had been wasted. He couldn't start actually looking for Rachel until the morning, when he could get his hands on a copy of the new casting calls. Then it would be just a matter of trolling the offices in the paper until he found her. When he did, he'd haul her - by that long, tantalizing hair, if necessary - to Union Station and put her firmly on a train back to Ohio. He glared out the window, not even in the mood to listen to music. There was no music in his mind, no music in his heart. It had fled, and all had been replaced by rage. He couldn't verbalize just what he was mad about - or at. But wasn't that part of being a young man, he wondered? Some sort of burning anger, emotion that could not be explained?

They pulled up at a darkened brownstone. Alder trees rustled on the curb in front of the tall house. Old-fashioned lace curtains fluttered in an open upstairs window, even in the rain. Jesse paid the driver, tipping no more than was necessary, and palmed his keys. His cranky Aunt Becca had told him not to make a ruckus when he got in, but to go directly up to the room he used when he visited. He did as he had been told without causing trouble. She'd kicked him out before, for a night or two, and his mother always bitched when she saw the New York hotel bill on his credit card statement. He didn't want to hear about it this time, so he tried to behave.

His Aunt Becca was an odd one, Jesse had to admit. She was his father's older sister, and had married young and divorced early when her husband ran off with some French chorus girl. Becca got the house before real estate in Brooklyn was worth anything, and now her ex was a bum in Paris, and she a millionaire. The top floor of the brownstone had been renovated as a well-appointed apartment, and it rented for what Becca assured Jesse was an astronomical sum by Ohio standards. She lived very comfortably on the lower floors, occasionally taking in students or artists as boarders - for the company as much as anything, for she did not need the extra income.

Jesse flicked on the light in "his" room, grimacing as he always did. His aunt had not redecorated the main part of the house in decades, and the tired orangey-beige walls had dings and little white scraped spots where the paint had chipped. There was a long chest of drawers with a stained lace runner across the top and a potted silk plant that wanted dusting. The queen-sized bed, with heavy, dated head- and footboards, was dressed in an orange and brown patterned comforter, with a hideous pale pink thread weaving through the geometric design. A dark wood nightstand and tired brown shag carpeting finished the utterly unpleasant ambiance.

Jesse threw his bag on the bed and followed it with his body, pulling out his phone to text his parents quickly, informing them of his whereabouts. Not for emotional reasons, but so they wouldn't cancel his credit card when they started seeing charges from the wrong coast. The mattress creaked and sagged; it was lumpy, the three pillows limp and flat. They were clean, but Jesse could feel the years of use like grime, clinging to everything. This was what he disliked about this house, this city, and what he loved about Los Angeles. In L.A. nothing was sacred. No, that wasn't quite true. _Newness_ was sacred, Jesse corrected himself. Youth was sacred. A room like this in L.A. - if it existed at all - would be meticulously crafted out of shiny new materials for the retro kitsch value, perhaps purposely distressed, like the jeans that were so ridiculously popular right now.

He needed to take a leak, but resisted the urge. The tension in his bladder echoed the tension in his mind and, in a sick way, he liked it. He grimaced, also wanting a shower. He hated being dirty. Hell, even this room made him feel dirty, no matter how tidy a housekeeper his aunt and her help were. Jesse muttered a string of tired curse words and hauled himself into the closest bathroom, taking the bag with his toiletries along.

This room had been remodeled during his lifetime, at least. Stark white and cloudy blue schoolhouse tiles inlaid an open shower with a large showerhead. Bright, unshaded vanity bulbs threw the room into sharp shadow. Jesse threw on the fan, and the heat lamp for good measure. The red of the hot light mellowed the sharp edges of shadow somewhat. He set his things in the shower, grabbed a maroon towel from the bottom drawer of the vanity, and hopped onto the cold tile. The water rained down, chilly at first and smelling like iron. Remembering, Jesse clamped his mouth shut. He hated the taste of New York municipal water. Back in Ohio he was happy to drink from the tap - save the planet, and all - but in the city here it was bottled water only for him.

He screwed up his face, pushing it into the shower's stream. Fucking fool girl. Jesse was ready to wring her lovely little neck when he found her. He could see her now, in his mind's eye, amid the shower's steam. How her shining hair was long enough that he could wrap it around his hand, gaining a thick handful that felt like a fall of cool water against his palm. That smooth line of throat, of ribs under trembling, milky skin - just a hint of Mediterranean blush to her complexion, like a child's first splash of coffee drowned in sugary milk. Caramel cream when he bit and licked at her throat, color rising to the surface. She was possibly the most beautiful girl he'd ever dated. Certainly the most talented. He'd been telling the truth when he told her making it to Broadway was an inevitability, but not right now. She was too blindly nave. New York would eat her alive without a thought. For the first time though, as he stood under the hot shower, Jesse began to feel a little afraid for her. Rachel was lost somewhere in one of the biggest, dirtiest, most crime-ridden cities in the world. Where was she staying? With whom? What sort of filthy-minded false producers had she met already? Was she lost? Hurt? Cold, wet, afraid? Jesse shifted restlessly and shut the shower off, grabbing his towel and wrapping it around his waist. Part of him - and he didn't know how big a part - wanted very much to wake up tomorrow morning to find her body's indent in the lumpy bed next to him, the sound of her in this shower soothing in his ears and her ridiculous knee socks thrown across that awful brown carpet. Another part of him wanted nothing more than to just walk away, to return to UCLA and leave her to her fate. But he couldn't. Something had brought him here; something was holding him, forcing him to this place where she had fled.

And why had she done so, Jesse wanted to know? Not that he cared, he tried to tell himself as he brushed his teeth for the required two minutes and then rinsed with spearmint mouthwash, following the directions on the bottle to the letter. No, it wasn't that he _cared_, he assured himself. It was just that there was no reasonable explanation. Of course he was curious; anyone would be. Jesse eyed his reflection in the mirror, pasting on his best smile. Shelby might have been able to tell that something was off, but likely nobody else would. Not even his parents. He examined his eyes carefully, noting the hint of darkness below them. He'd have to soak them in the morning if he didn't get enough sleep tonight.

He left the bathroom tidy, exiting into a dark hallway that now felt chilly. The sound of a television or radio buzzed from somewhere nearby, though he could not make out anything that was said. He thought about taking his headphones with him to bed, but decided against it. For some reason, music wasn't working its calming magic on him right now. Shaking his head, he turned off the light and burrowed into the uncomfortable old mattress.

Sleep was a long time coming.

* * *

The next morning was no better. Jesse blindly fumbled his way out of the bed with a backache from the lumpy old mattress and a headache from lack of sleep. He hated mornings - absolutely _loathed_ them. And today was even worse, his body thrown into chaos from the three-hour time difference between Los Angeles and New York. He cursed under his breath as he brushed his teeth hard enough to leave a trace of blood in the sink, and splashed his face with cold water until he could finally open his eyes more than a squint.

Fucking Rachel. This was all her fault. He kept up a string of curses as he threw a backpack over his shoulder and slammed out the front door. His aunt would be angry about the noise, but he didn't have to deal with her until he returned that night. If all went as planned, he'd have found Rachel by then. Task accomplished, he'd have all the time in the world to placate a cranky relative before heading back to school.

Jesse walked through dingy morning overcast to the nearest subway station, then caught a train heading in the general direction of Greenwich Village. It wasn't the fabled neighborhood it used to be, before his time, but it had a number of good coffee shops, and there were enough artists still living in the area that plenty of newsstands still stocked a paper publication with all the local casting calls listed. With any luck, all he'd have to do was follow the paper trail, as it were. It would have to lead to Rachel, sooner or later.

He bought a paper from a newsstand just outside the subway station, then glanced around. The nearest coffee was Starbucks, of course. Whatever. It wasn't like he was here to take in the local roasts. He entered the chain and ordered something full of sugar and caffeine from the bored-looking barista in the green apron. She was chewing gum, and as she heated milk she eyed the publication in Jesse's hand.

"Looking to be the next somebody, pretty boy?" she asked, and she would have pulled off the disaffected city-girl stereotype perfectly, except she had actually spoken to him. Jesse sneered inwardly. A true New Yorker wouldn't have bothered saying anything. This girl clearly knew at least something about city life, but she hadn't grown up here. She was a transplant, same as most of the other people hurrying through the Village. Probably she had had a dream of her own at one point. By now it didn't matter. She was a barista. Someday she would probably return to wherever she came from, find a nice nobody to marry, settle down to a nice nothing job.

But not him. Not Jesse St. James. He had never been a nobody in his life, and he had no plans to waste the future. He was paying his dues now in college, but soon he'd be ready to go out on his own. Most people didn't succeed when the dream was stardom. Jesse would be different.

"I already _am_ somebody," Jesse snarled, taking his drink and refusing to drop change in the tip jar. He was in no mood to talk to anybody, and he certainly wasn't going to reward them for bothering him.

Resolutely, Jesse stalked to a free table and sat down. He fished a highlighter out of his pack and started marking the addresses of everyone looking for a leading lady. There were quite a few, if you counted the off-Broadway and off-off-Broadway companies and productions. He hesitated, wondering if he should check everyone looking for a girl around Rachel's age and size. But, no. That would be a waste of time. Everyone knew Rachel was pushing to be a star. She had no interest in a supporting role.

And rightly so. Jesse swallowed hot coffee, grimacing as it burned his tongue. She deserved to play second to no one. Miss Rachel Berry was an amazing creature - alternately soft and fierce, commanding and adorable -

Jesse squelched that line of thought, clenching his jaw so hard that it hurt. No. No, he couldn't allow himself to think about her like that. Not anymore. Seducing her had been a game, only. Something Shelby ordered him to do. He wasn't supposed to get emotionally involved. He _never_ got emotionally involved. So maybe he'd broken that rule with Rachel. It had been a mistake, pure and simple. The moment of weakness had passed, and while he would forever suffer the aftereffects, he was strong enough to push through it. Strong enough to stop himself from making the same mistake again.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry this one is short. The next one should be longer as we get more into the plot, but I didn't want to cram it all together._


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Um, hi? So, so sorry I vanished for as long as I did! I have plenty of excuses, but none of them sound very good. The notebook I draft in got lost when I moved, and then there were all sorts of RL issues, and THEN I had to decide what to do with this after J. Groff came back for the last few episodes of season 2. I decided to keep going as I started, as if this story took place somewhere in the middle of the second season, and not try to work Jesse's return on the show into my storyline. Speaking of which, was anyone else a little disappointed with the final few episodes? I thought they didn't give Rachel nearly enough time to have drama about her conflicted feelings, and I hate hate HATE Sunshine or whatever her name is, the new VA lead. I have a sinking suspicion she'll be getting more screen time next season, and I want to squash her! Grr... Okay, done ranting now._

_People have asked, so I'll tell you now that I'm St. Berry and Klaine, and I don't really care about the rest of 'em, relationship-wise. But on with the drama!_

* * *

**Scale the Glass Mountain**

The Soho apartment was small, which Rachel had expected. Most apartments in New York were small. Her house in Ohio was a mansion compared to this.

But it was _New York_. For the thrill of living here, even for just a little while, Rachel thought she'd risk just about anything. Brave just about anything. She'd already risked her fathers' wrath by coming here. What was the space and comfort of an actual house, compared to that?

But the night was wet and steadily getting colder as the skies over New York opened up and dripped steadily down. Rachel bit her lip and pulled her hood further over her head. She had a grungy hotel room to get back to, but she didn't want to leave this sidewalk just yet. The light spilling out of the first-floor apartment was so warm and inviting; it painted the small square of sidewalk gold, and Rachel stretched out a hand into the light. Her shadow on the pavement was sharp and cold.

Had she known from the beginning that she would break down and come here? Rachel didn't think so. This wasn't what she told herself she'd come to New York for. She'd come to make a new start, to try her luck in the city that made and broke so many millions of people. There was nothing left for her in Ohio - her dads were wonderful people, but they weren't enough anymore. Not when everything else in that town seemed stacked against her.

But no matter what else she had wanted, Rachel had not intended to come to New York to spy on Shelby and Beth.

It hurt, though, as she looked through the window and saw these people - so familiar and yet so strange at the same time - going about their lives, never knowing she was watching. Beth was chubby and blond, and she seemed at ease in Shelby's arms - a place Rachel had never been comfortable, a place she had only been held once or twice. Shelby's sharp features were easy and light, the razor-like angles softened by her smile as she sang to her adopted baby, bouncing her softly as she walked her around the room. Beth was slowly dropping to sleep in her arms.

The walls of the room were pink and white, and Rachel saw a bookshelf filled with picture books and stuffed animals. She wondered if any of those books were ones she would remember from her own childhood. Quickly, she shoved those thoughts aside. Thinking of her childhood made her think of her fathers, and she didn't want to do that right now. Hiram and Leroy weren't at fault for the choices she'd made, and she didn't like thinking about how sad they must be. Instead she focused on Shelby's mouth moving as she sang. While Rachel could not hear the words, she tried to guess the song by watching her mother's face. Would Shelby sing Beth to sleep with traditional lullabies, or show tunes? Rachel didn't know, and she hated it. She hated the thought that this was her mother and she couldn't answer a simple question like that. She didn't know Shelby well enough.

Coming to New York hadn't been all Rachel hoped for, and now she turned away from the bright window and slowly headed toward the nearest subway station. She dropped her head, watching for unevenness in the cracked sidewalk, feeling the rain slowly dripping along her waterproof jacket. She was lonely, surrounded by all the bustle of the big city. And it wasn't the sort of loneliness she could revel in, either. Sometimes feeling melancholy was just lovely - morosely beautiful. But tonight it was just miserable. She didn't like feeling invisible, and she'd effectively felt that way from the moment she'd stepped off the train in this city. She had to admit that at least part of her had dreamed of being discovered instantly, the moment she stepped into her first Broadway audition.

The reality of the starving artist was vastly different than her fantasies, and she was just beginning to understand how foolish she'd been to hop a train here and assume that everything would turn out fine.

Rachel lowered her head under the weight of the soft, heavy rain. She deserved to feel this way, and she knew it. It hadn't been right to leave Ohio so abruptly, especially with no note, no phone call, nothing to explain to Hiram and Leroy what had become of her. But everything had come to a perfect fever pitch, and she couldn't stay. She just couldn't. Hot tears prickled behind her eyelids, but she held her breath for a moment and let the tight feeling in her chest ease. Crying now wouldn't help matters. Not when she probably already looked like a little drowned rat, all draggled and damp from walking in the evening rain. With a sad half-smile she recalled the mashup her glee club had done of "Singing in the Rain." Well, she definitely wasn't singing right now. Not only would people think she was completely insane if she walked down the streets of New York belting out show tunes, she really didn't feel like it. For maybe the first time in her life, she didn't think that singing would make her feel any better.

* * *

Jesse was back at the newsstand the next morning, firm in his resolve. He _was_ going about this the right way; he just knew it. Rachel had to be here, trying her luck among the thousands of other girls with big Broadway dreams. There was nowhere else she could possibly have gone. Nowhere else in the world would call Rachel Berry the way New York did. He knew her well - too well - and he knew the siren allure of this town, too. This city ate people alive. It wasn't a healthy environment. Yet people like Rachel embraced it with open arms, never knowing what it was doing to them in the meantime.

But Jesse knew. Maybe he wasn't going to win any scholastic awards anytime soon, but he was street-smart about things like this. He knew what New York did to people, and that was why he was waiting, learning what UCLA could teach him, before trying to make his way here. Rachel didn't know a fucking thing about surviving in this city.

Jesse had left photos of Rachel at each casting call, with a note that she was an underage runaway and to notify him or his aunt if she came by. One or two thought they had maybe seen her earlier in the week. Bette Midler type, one had said. But none had any useful information as to her whereabouts. Jesse almost decided to go to the police, but finally chose not to. If Rachel saw herself on TV she might well go into hiding. Not that she wasn't already, he grumbled to himself. Yes, he thought, turning over his phone in his hand. Yes, he would tell the police. If he didn't find her in another day or two. Or three. He didn't know. But he'd do it if he had to. At some point.

Without really knowing what he was doing, he opened his phone. He'd deleted her as a contact ages ago, but he knew her number by heart. He slowly dialed. It went straight to voicemail.

"Listen, you spoiled little drama queen. How dare you? How dare you do that to your teachers, your fathers...to Shelby and your friends? Get yourself home; I mean it. Go back to Ohio, goddamn it, and stay there!"

For the first time, worry began to trickle through the anger and really show itself. So many times over the past few days her big dark eyes had been on his mind. Now, not knowing if he would ever see them again, he found himself hiding behind the anger, using it as a screen to try and mask the worry. Rachel's leaving couldn't possibly be his fault, and he knew that. But she was tied to him in a way he couldn't understand and couldn't deny, no matter how much he wanted to. That tie made him feel responsible for her. And no matter what happened afterward, he wasn't going to give up now. Rachel needed to see that she'd hurt people with her selfish runaway attempt, and he was going to show her.

Just as soon as he found her.

Again he started with the ads looking for leading ladies. It was a shuffle through Midtown, slogging around the damp New York streets back and forth from audition to audition. It would be easier, so much easier, if auditions were always held at theaters along the strip of Broadway, but they weren't. These first calls, especially for off-Broadway performances and traveling troupes, were most often held at a producer's business office or some rented gymnasium space.

At lunchtime, Jesse took a break at a local deli. Several casting directors had admitted to seeing Rachel, but none knew where to find her. Her only contact information was her cell number, which Jesse had already called countless times. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he stared at the dark rye bread of his sandwich. He really hated rye, but it was a New York deli thing. If you ordered white or wheat bread, you got laughed at and most likely overcharged. He picked at the corned beef, not really hungry.

He opened the casting call directory again, revealing a glossy 8x10 photo of Rachel Berry. It was her headshot; one of the directors had willingly given it to Jesse when he heard the girl was a runaway. Jesse stared at the photo morosely. None of her features were wonderful; by all rights she shouldn't be beautiful. But the net result was stunning. The whole was greater than the sum of its parts, and Jesse didn't know why. Just looking at her photo took his breath away. He remembered the touch of that full mouth against his skin, the warmth of her small self when she let him hold her in his arms.

He knew he'd screwed up big-time when he chose Vocal Adrenaline over Rachel. He knew it before he made the decision, even. But showmanship and competition got the better of him, and he had chosen the easy way. Jesse St. James did not know how to be in a relationship. He didn't know how to love someone, didn't know how to put someone else's needs before his own. So he had done what he always did in uncomfortable situations. He picked the easy choice. In this case, the easy choice had been Vocal Adrenaline. Jesse didn't want to regret his decision. There was nothing he could do to change it now, and there was no point in dwelling. So he told himself what he wanted to hear: he was here because he knew more about this city than Rachel did. He was here to shake some sense into her and then put her skinny little ass back on a train to Ohio. He wasn't here to redeem himself. He wasn't here for her sake, but for the sake of all the other people who loved her.

At least, that was what he told himself up until the minute his phone rang.

* * *

Rachel paced back and forth in the tiny room. It was dark and bare, just an old desk and a threadbare cloth chair. She'd already dug through the empty desk drawers, looking for something to pick the lock. She bit her lip, worrying the flesh between her teeth as she tugged at the unmoving doorknob for what seemed like the ten millionth time. This was starting to become not fun at all. Scary, even. She was locked in this small office room with old green industrial carpet. An old beige rotary phone sat on the battered desktop, but she had already investigated all the drawers and there was no cord to plug the phone into the wall. She'd seen the flashing scuttle of at least two cockroaches, and they scared her almost as much as the empty room and the locked door.

She'd been stupid, and she recognized that now. Utterly idiotic. Foolhardy. She yanked at the doorknob, but it wasn't budging. She didn't quite dare pound on it. She didn't know where the man was.

Whether he was a real producer or not, she didn't know. But she hadn't been the only girl to answer his ad - she knew that much. There had been a line of young women downstairs waiting for the chance to audition. The guy had come into the waiting room and, after a quick glance at the queue, he'd pointed to Rachel and beckoned. Joy had filled her in that moment - this was exactly what she'd been dreaming of. Her star potential had finally been recognized and she'd been plucked from obscurity, literally beckoned out of the line of hopefuls.

She'd followed him up two flights of stairs in this old office building, and he'd graciously waved her into the small room before him. Then he'd offered to take her purse and coat, and he'd draped them over his arm. It was just then, as butterflies flew around in Rachel's belly and she was about to ask him what he preferred she sing, that his cell phone rang. A flash of irritation crossed his jowly face, and he whirled out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

That was when she knew something was very, very wrong.

He'd taken her coat and her purse with him, and she was left alone in a bare room with peeling paint and threadbare green carpet over squeaky floorboards. Upon inspection, the door had been locked.

Cue the panic.

Now Rachel paced quickly back and forth across the creaking floor, wringing her hands and twisting her one ring around on her finger. She'd been a fool, and she knew that now. Of course, now was too late. She had no idea when the man would be back, or what he wanted from her, but she knew it wasn't anything good. Nobody took away a girl's purse and locked her up without ulterior motives.

Rachel stopped pacing for a moment and leaned up against the wall. It was uncomfortable, and she shifted her position. As she did, something sharp poked against her hip.

Her phone.

She was so used to carrying her phone in her purse that she hadn't even realized she still had it with her. But she'd been checking the time when the fake producer called her out of line, and she'd hastily shoved the phone in the pocket of her skirt as she followed him out of the waiting room and up the stairs. She'd never put it back in her purse.

Thanking every deity she'd ever heard of silently in her head, Rachel yanked her phone out and woke it up. She had so many missed calls that she'd stopped counting, and she was about to delete the notifications when something stopped her.

Strange. The last few calls she'd had weren't from either of her dads, or anyone at McKinley.

They were from Jesse.

But why would Jesse be calling her now? Had her dads tracked down absolutely everyone she'd ever known, thinking she might be off visiting friends? Shaking her head a little, she moved again to dismiss the messages.

Again, something stopped her. Rachel couldn't explain why, or what it was, but she found herself dialing Jesse's number instead of the police. She couldn't possibly call the police. She had no idea what to tell them when they asked where she was.

He picked up on the first ring, and he was furious. "Rachel Berry!" he shouted, and she winced, holding the phone away from her ear. Quickly she turned the volume down, in case the fake producer was lurking around somewhere close by. "Where in god's name are you, and what the fuck do you think you're doing, running away like that?" His huge voice carried on with a long string of expletives, his singer's lungs allowing him to continue for quite some time.

When he finally paused to take a breath, Rachel braced herself to say it. She winced again and choked back a frightened little sound. Showing weakness in front of Jesse was never a good thing. Even when they were dating, she was never quite...never quite comfortable, in a way. And yet, at the same time, she was more comfortable with him than with anyone else in the world. It didn't make sense, and she couldn't explain it. All she knew was that it _was_. "Jesse, please," she pleaded, keeping her voice barely above a whisper. The words tasted awful in her mouth, like vinegar, but there was nothing else she could say. "I need help."

He was instantly silent. "Where are you?" he demanded in a much quieter tone. "What's wrong?"

"I'm in New York," she mumbled. This really wasn't the time for long explanations.

"Yes, I'm aware of that," he snapped, and she heard him heave an impatient sigh.

"You are?"

"You little idiot, do you really think I don't know you well enough to know where you'd go?" He paused. His voice was anything but happy. "Your address. _Now_."

"I don't remember!" Rachel said, her voice rising in volume as tears threatened. "Jesse, he locked me in! He took my purse; I don't have the address with me!"

There was silence on the other end for a moment, then the sweet, studied sound that Rachel could never mistake for anyone else's voice. He heaved a sigh of frustration and his voice quieted, though it was still not friendly. "Crazy girl. Serve you right if I hung up right now, you know. Is there a window?"

Rachel swallowed the sharp retort that automatically bubbled up in her throat. Now was not the time to argue with him. "Yes," she said, and she crossed the room to look out the dirty window.

"Look outside. Can you read any addresses or street signs from where you are?"

"Hang on." Rachel opened the window, wincing at the awful squeaking sound as she pried it up. Not only a window, she saw, as she stuck her head out and peered around. It was a fire escape. "I can't see any street signs," she said, looking around. "They're too far away to read."

"Addresses on the buildings across from you, then? What are the ground-floor businesses?"

Rachel read off several address numbers that she could see, though she didn't know what good it would do without the street name. "I see a pizza place, next to a laundromat." She gave him a list of business names, and heard the scratching of a pen or pencil as he jotted down what she said.

"Good girl." Jesse's voice was softer, the hint of mocking assurance returning to it. It was the voice she remembered from the months they'd spent together, and it settled her nerves more than she thought a voice ever could. "I know where you are. It's one of the sleazier places I visited yesterday, looking for you. Look, I'm coming to get you - hailing a taxi now. Don't you dare hang up the phone, got it? Check the window again. Is there a fire escape?"

Rachel heard the sound of footsteps in the hallway and her heart jumped into her throat. She whimpered a little, not caring this time if Jesse heard her. The calm his voice had instilled evaporated, and she used her free hand to brace herself as she leaned out the window again. "Yes," she said, hearing static on the other end of the line.

Jesse heard static, too, as he jumped into a taxi and snapped the cross-streets at the driver. "Open that window," he ordered into the phone, "and get down that fire escape." He coughed; this taxi stank. "Don't shut off your phone; put it in your pocket if you can. Don't end the call, and don't drop the phone."

"Kay," Rachel said. He'd never heard her voice sound so small, not even when he was breaking up with her. This experience must have really shaken her confidence. _Good_, he thought to himself. Maybe it was the wake-up call she needed to shock her brain into working. There was static again on the phone, and he heard the rustling sound of movement.

Finally the taxi pulled up at the right block. Jesse shoved money at the driver and dashed into a skinny alley between two buildings. Sure enough, a floor above him, Rachel stood shaking on a rusty fire escape.

"You ridiculous little farm girl," he said, shaking his head. "Come down here."

"I can't," she whimpered. "There isn't a ladder."

Jesse shook his head. He jumped, grabbing the pull-down ladder and bringing it with him to the ground. Rachel flung herself down the ladder immediately, stumbling into his arms without a second thought. Jesse froze, his arms full of trembling girl. She was cold and shaking as she cried, tears falling freely on his jacketed shoulder. He wanted to push her away, to stand there stony-faced and inform her that she deserved any nefarious thing that could have happened to her had he not intervened. But with the warm ball of her body pressed against him, he couldn't do it. He wasn't that cruel. And she smelled all good and girly - fruity shampoo or whatever. He put his arms around her, clutching her soft sweater, smoothing his hands across her skirt hem. She nestled like a kitten into his slightly scratchy cheek and throat. Her own cheek was wet.

Finally, after several long moments, Jesse cleared his throat. "Come on, baby," he said, not at all sure where the term of endearment had come from. And why wasn't his voice as stern as he'd intended to make it, either? "Let's get out of here."

She made no attempt to remove herself from his arms. "That fake producer has my purse and my jacket."

"We'll call the cops," Jesse promised. "But in case you haven't noticed, we're currently getting rained on, and you, as you said, don't have a jacket."

She nodded, sniffling a little, and shifted her body into the crook of his arm. Jesse let her nestle there, letting himself merely be glad for the moment that she was all right. She'd had a bad scare, but nothing worse had happened. Whatever was in her purse could be replaced if it wasn't recovered, and physically she was fine. "Silly girl," he said, sighing and tightening his arm around her shoulder. Her hair was getting damp, fat raindrops falling into the shiny mass hanging down her back. He wanted badly to stroke his hand through it, but he stifled the urge. "Are you hungry?"

"Not really," she said, pressing closer to him again. It was awkward trying to walk when she was plastered so closely to his side, but he managed.

"We have to call the cops at some point," he said, propelling her away from the tired old building in which she'd been held captive. "But how about a gyro first?"

"Are you sure that's safe?" she asked, wrinkling her nose at the sidewalk stand a few blocks down.

"Food carts are a New York institution," Jesse insisted. Keeping her talking would hopefully keep her mind off of what had just happened long enough for them to get home, and feeding her would hopefully stave off shock. "There are standards."

She nodded, and the misty look in her dark eyes made Jesse understand that she was in her meek, pliable mood, which meant that she'd agree to almost anything. Rachel Berry was very rarely like this, and he intended to take full advantage of the situation. He raised her hand and pressed a gentle kiss against her bare knuckles before leading her forward.

Seeing her again after all that had happened between them, and then all the time apart, was definitely a shock. Jesse watched her as they walked slowly along the sidewalk. Such a beautiful girl. And so talented, too. She looked up at him with her warm, dark eyes still damp with rain and tears. There was no adoration there, as there used to be when she gazed at him. But there was thankfulness, and a hesitant kind of warmth.

"Are you okay, baby?" he asked carefully. He wasn't used to seeing her look like this at all. Caution was something Rachel Berry knew nothing about, but that's what he now saw in her eyes.

"Mm." The noise was not indicative of anything in particular.

"Got a better answer than that?"

"Not right now," she said quietly, and Jesse understood that that had to be good enough for now. Later he - or the cops - would pry a more detailed explanation out of her, but for the moment he wouldn't press. She was safe, her small body soft against him, and in that moment, that one moment, nothing else mattered.

* * *

_A/N: Before you ask, no, Jesse's not done being conflicted, and he's not going to suddenly start being all sweet. This is just the beginning; they have a long way to go yet. Thanks for sticking with me through my time hiccup, I promise not to disappear for three months straight again!_


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Content warning for this chapter - Jesse is a little dark and not very nice, particularly at the end. Next chapter will be dark, too, but after that things will start to get better._

_Yes, we will eventually find out what pushed Rachel to leave Ohio (next chapter, in fact), but it won't be some big shocking revelation, so don't wait with bated breath._

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

**Scale the Glass Mountain**

"My hotel isn't in Brooklyn."

Jesse glanced at Rachel's small form huddled against the taxi door. Her voice was soft and quiet, something he wasn't terribly used to. He'd only seen her timid side once or twice before, and he had to admit that it was a refreshing change from her usual abrasive personality. She refused to look at him, instead staring dully out the window of the slowly-moving cab.

"We're not going back to your hotel," Jesse replied finally.

"Why not?"

She wasn't arguing, and that surprised Jesse perhaps more than anything else so far. He narrowed his eyes, watching her. She was curled in on herself, her purple argyle sweater clinging damply to her arms. Her hair had gotten wet in the rain, and now the natural curl was starting to show itself, individual strands twisting and tangling around each other. He couldn't see much of her face, but the firm set of her jaw made him suspect she was trying not to cry.

She hadn't cried for a while now - not since he'd tucked her into the crook of his arm and they'd walked away from the run-down building where she'd been kept captive for a short, tense time. He almost wished she would. Anything was better than this unhappy silence. She'd picked at the food he ordered her, not eating much of anything, and had only given him one-word answers to his questions. Her statement about a hotel was the most he'd heard from her since she called him on the phone.

"We're going to my aunt's house," Jesse said after a minute. "That's where I've been staying while I looked for you."

"You didn't have to do that."

Jesse snorted. It was an undignified sound, but at the moment he really didn't care. "Oh no, you little ingrate? Who the hell else knows you well enough to have found you, huh? Your dads? They called me, frantic with worry, claiming they had no clue where you'd run off to. Finn? Do you really think that mouth-breather knows you as well as I do?"

"We were only together for a short time, Jesse," she whispered.

There was a fragile tremor in her voice, but Jesse had worked himself up again and he ignored it. In anger he snapped, "Does it matter? Do you think it really fucking matters how long we were together? You could marry that Neanderthal tomorrow and stay with him until he dies, and he'd still never know you as well as I do."

She did not refute his statement. After a moment she asked, "What happens now?"

Jesse sighed and dug his hands into his hair. It was getting too long again and wanted cutting. Maybe he'd have that done before he left the city. "Now we go to my aunt's house," he said, tugging on the tousled strands. She was an infuriating child, and he didn't want to talk about this anymore. "We call the cops on your fake producer."

"Are you going to tell them I ran away?" she asked, so quiet and small.

"Absolutely." Jesse dropped his hands and forced himself to look away from her. It was too much to see her there on the other side of the seat, even if she wasn't looking at him with those sweet dark eyes. "And as soon as they're done with you, you'll be on a train back to your fathers, where you belong!"

At that, Rachel finally bristled. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her head turn, fire snapping in her gaze, and he was thankful they were just pulling up at his aunt's brownstone. He paid the driver and quickly left the cab, hoping the interruption would forestall whatever Rachel intended to say.

He knew her better than that, though, and he wasn't at all surprised when she flung herself out the other side of the cab and slammed the door firmly. Hands on her hips, she stepped smartly over to him and glared up with her old spark and fire back. "How dare you?" she demanded, and the anger in her voice told Jesse exactly what he needed to know. If she were another guy, she would have socked him by now. "How dare you just waltz in and tell me how to live my life?"

He smirked, knowing the mocking smile would just incense her further. "Like you were doing such a good job before I showed up."

"Screw you, Jesse St. James, and the horse you rode in on!" She turned on her heel, but Jesse had been expecting that and he grabbed her arm quickly.

"Let's take this inside," he said, glancing at the houses framing his aunt's. "There are plenty of shows in this city already. No need to give the neighbors a free one."

She tugged against his hold on her arm, but he was stronger and he walked them toward the door, fishing in his pocket with his other hand.

"Jesse! Let me go," she snapped. "I'll scream!"

"You'll do nothing of the sort," he said, finding his keys and slotting the correct one into the lock. "I don't know what you're so afraid I'll do to you, Rachel. Isn't that what I just saved you from?" He opened the door and released her arm, motioning for her to step into the house. "Now, do you want the guy who locked you up to get caught or not? Get inside so we can call the police, and stop acting like a spoiled child."

Her glare could have frozen hellfire, but Jesse took it. At least she wasn't yelling anymore. She stepped briskly into the house, the sharp sound of her shoes showing her continued anger. He followed with a frustrated sigh and shut the door firmly behind them. He was not a patient individual even in the best of circumstances, and Rachel Berry was quickly wearing through his already-frayed nerves.

"For your information, St. James," she said, her voice lower but no less venomous, "I was doing just fine! I would have found the fire escape with or without you!"

"If you didn't need my help, why did you call me?" he asked, digging in his backpack for his phone. Best to get all of this handled immediately. The sooner they called the police, the sooner Rachel would be out of his hair.

"I think a girl's permitted a moment of panic now and then!"

"If you weren't being such a little fool, traipsing around New York without the slightest idea what you were doing, you wouldn't have been in a position like that at all!"

Rachel opened her mouth to retort, but a sudden fierce booming sound shocked both teens into silence. They whirled, and Jesse had to hide a satisfied smile. They'd disturbed his crazy aunt Becca; the sound had been her cracking the end of her cane sharply against a door. Now Rachel was _really_ going to get it.

Silence so profound that Jesse could hear the buzzing of the refrigerator three rooms away settled upon the foyer. Rachel had gone pale at the sight of his aunt and Jesse now stepped away from the shaking girl, offering absolutely no comfort. Becca was tall and she had excellent posture despite the cane. Her hair had gone white early and she did not dye it, and the blue St. James eyes stood out vibrantly against all that silver. They glittered as they raked over Rachel once.

Jesse didn't know what his aunt might think of the girl. Rachel was a part of him now, and it was impossible for him to look at her with new eyes, with the eyes of someone who did not know her. His aunt was perceptive, but he didn't think she caught the faint, nearly undetectable tremor in Rachel's hands that was either residual anger or fear. He didn't know if his aunt would look past her bedraggled appearance - her frazzled hair, her damp sweater and mud-streaked shoes - or hold it against her.

It didn't matter, he told himself firmly. Rachel had made her own decisions. She deserved whatever hell his aunt was about to give her.

"You, young woman," Jesse's aunt said finally. Her voice was firm and cold. "You're the one all this fuss is about?"

Rachel quivered for a moment, but Jesse saw her steel herself. She slapped on a calm, blank face and looked at his aunt coolly. "I'm Rachel Berry," she said, stepping forward and holding out her hand.

The older woman looked at the outstretched hand for a moment but did not take it. "I must inform you," she said, "that I am thoroughly appalled by your lack of wisdom, insight, intelligence, and I must assume upbringing as well."

Rachel bristled, and Jesse could only wait, feeling quite smug. That little brat had no idea who she was dealing with.

"My dads are wonderful parents!" Rachel protested hotly. "There's nothing wrong with my upbringing!"

"More's the pity, then," Jesse's aunt said, shaking her head a little. "Good upbringing, and still you do things like this. I must say that while I do not often approve of my nephew's decisions, his choice to leave you last year seems like one of his better ones." She was perfectly calm as she spoke, and Jesse was willing to bet that Rachel had never been cut down so thoroughly by someone so devoid of emotion before. "Do you have any idea how many people are looking for you at this moment? Any clue what you've put them through?"

Rachel flushed and dropped her head slightly. "I didn't mean - "

"That is none of my concern." The older woman paused. "I don't even know you, child, and I am deeply disappointed. You would do well to remember those who love you before you try something like this again."

Rachel did not answer.

"Jesse," his aunt said finally, "you will do what you must as quickly as possible, so we can return to a semblance of normalcy. Is that clear?"

"Crystal, ma'am."

"Good." She glanced at Rachel one more time before turning slowly and stalking back into her sitting room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Jesse smiled grimly. Plenty of times his aunt's disapproval had been directed at him, and he knew how much it stung. He toyed with the phone in his hand, waiting for Rachel to turn, to say something - anything.

When she did, it was not what he'd expected.

A deep breath steeled her body, and she shut her eyes. "Take me back to my hotel."

Oh, hell, no. "You can check out over the phone," he said. That wasn't what she had meant and he knew it, but he couldn't resist pushing when she was acting like this.

"You don't have any say in what I do anymore!" she snapped, and Jesse could feel the raw fury in her voice. "My life is none of your business!"

Her anger only served to light his, and he strode the two steps toward her, grabbing her arms above the elbow and forcing her to face him. "And mine is none of yours, yet here we are." He shook her lightly - not the brain-rattling shake he'd wanted to give her since learning she ran away, but a small one. She tried to twist out of his grip, but he was far stronger and he held firm. "You don't listen to anyone, Berry, but you're going to shut the fuck up and listen to me for once. Your fathers love you. They _adore_ you. I don't care what pushed you to run away, but you had absolutely no right to do that to them. I was happily going about my business at UCLA and got a frantic phone call. _You_ insinuated yourself back into my life by pulling this shit, not the other way around. Got it? I was free of you. Don't you get it? _Free_."

"Then you should have stayed in California and left me alone!" she interrupted, again trying to yank her arms free. She succeeded with one, the damp, soft weave of her sweater not giving Jesse much to hold onto. She pushed at him with her free hand, trying to shove him away, but he caught her wrist tightly and held her immobile again.

Her insistence that she didn't need or want his help pushed Jesse over the edge. He propelled her backward until she hit the wall, pressing her tightly against it. Anger, hot and vivid, flew through his veins. Only Rachel could ever get a rise out of him like this. Only Rachel could shove her way past his perfect showface and scratch at the living person inside. It wasn't fair. He hadn't asked for any of this. Desperate to make her understand, he pushed her tighter against the wall, pinning her with his body until she was immobile. He shifted his grip, grabbing both her small wrists in one hand and using the other to hold her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. Her gaze was electric, full of shock and anger and the first faint hint of fear.

Good.

"You want me to leave you alone?" he demanded, gripping her chin tighter as she tried to pull away. "Is that what you really want? I'll take you back to him myself if you dare say so. Is that what you're asking me to do?" He paused, but she refused to answer. "You know what he wanted, don't you? If you hadn't called me and got yourself out of there, he would have forced you and he wouldn't have been nice about it. You were already afraid. You already knew something wasn't right, so there was no reason for him to be pleasant. Would you really rather that had happened? Rather some strange man rip your clothes off and hold you down, forcing his cock up inside you?"

She'd squeezed her eyes shut sometime during his tirade, but as the final harsh words left his mouth, Jesse felt her drop. He released her, and she slid along the wall to the ground, tucking her knees close to her chest and hiding her head in her arms. Harsh, raw sobs shook her delicate frame as she huddled there against the wall in the foyer of his aunt's house.

The anger instantly fled, leaving Jesse hollow and uncertain. He'd never heard Rachel cry like this before, and it scared him. He put a hand out slowly, leaning down to brush his fingers against her shoulder. She flinched away from the light touch violently, huddling further into herself.

The hollowness grew, turning slowly into an ache of guilt and loss as Jesse stood helplessly by, watching the broken mess of a girl. She'd withstood a ridiculous amount of bullying in her life, but none of it had broken her. The loss of Shelby hadn't even broken her. It had taken until this moment, and he'd done it.

He had done this.

* * *

_A/N: I don't know why these chapters keep coming out shorter than usual. I usually aim for about 8,000 words per chapter and somehow with this story I'm averaging around 3,000. Ah, well. At least nobody had to wait three months for it this time!_

_Thanks to all my sweet reviewers; I love hearing what y'all think!_


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Well, hello again! I was really surprised that more people didn't hate Jesse in the last chapter; I was totally prepared for unhappy reviews. Thanks for all of you sweet people who DID review! I love hearing what people think, good or bad. Also, I know I promised some sort of reveal in this chapter, but quicker updates means shorter chapters so I've decided not to promise anything else. Except that there will be no Finchel in this story. THAT I can promise! ;-)_

_I was re-watching my Season 1 DVDs the other day and I realized something. I know Rachel says she's vegan at some point, but that's contraindicated in other episodes. At her bowling alley date with Finn in "Rhodes Less Traveled" they eat pepperoni pizza, and in "Ballads" she makes Mr. Schue a venison casserole. I'll have to think about this a little more before I make a decision for this story. Hmm..._

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

**Scale the Glass Mountain**

She didn't speak.

The silence wasn't only unusual, it was eerily unnerving. Jesse stared at her from his spot in the armchair, not saying a word. She was curled on the end of the elegant couch in his aunt's parlor, her muddy ballet flats on the floor in front of her, and she was doing nothing but staring vacantly ahead, her head on her knees, her dark eyes gazing listlessly at nothing. She wasn't even crying anymore.

The two beat cops had come and gone, but Rachel had refused to give a statement and Jesse was warned that she would have to do so at some point. Officers had been dispatched to the building where Rachel's false producer had been, but Jesse could give little information. Rachel hadn't told him much, just that she'd been locked in a room and somehow her purse and jacket had been taken from her. Jesse had no description of the perpetrator, and he didn't know anything else. He'd given his copy of the casting call to the police, but what they really needed was Rachel's input.

That input wasn't forthcoming at the moment, however. Rachel refused to respond when anyone asked her questions, merely continuing to stare blankly at the opposite wall. The female officer had touched her shoulder, tried to coax her back to herself, but Rachel had not moved.

Jesse had kept his promise and told the police that she was a runaway.

But somehow the rest of his explanation hadn't gone quite according to plan. He found himself claiming that the St. Jameses and the Berries were old family friends, which was why he'd brought her to his aunt's house. His promise that he would be in contact with her fathers as soon as possible kept Rachel out of police custody for the night.

Jesse didn't know why he'd done it. He couldn't explain it even to himself, but something about the small dark-haired girl huddled on the couch wouldn't let him abandon her to the officials. He knew they were the good guys, and they wouldn't intentionally hurt her, but he couldn't do it. Something wouldn't let him tip her into someone else's hands right now, when she was so broken. Something wouldn't let him walk away.

"It will take hours to get here from Ohio," the female cop had objected, a frown marring her face as she watched Rachel carefully. "Isn't there someone closer you can call? No offense, but she needs an adult right now."

Jesse knew perfectly well that his aunt Becca wouldn't be the comforting adult Rachel needed, and he'd tugged at his hair as he contemplated his next words. "Her mother is in the city," he'd finally revealed. "But they're estranged."

The cops had shared a glance before the female officer spoke again. "Seems like a good time to work on that, to me."

Which was why Jesse was now sitting here in silence, toying yet again with his cell phone. The police had been gone for over an hour now, leaving him with a business card and a promise that they would be in touch. He'd been back and forth about who to call first, and he couldn't make up his mind. Shelby would be the easier call, but he really didn't want to talk to her. He hadn't seen her since Nationals - he'd cut ties with her just as effectively as he had with the rest of his Vocal Adrenaline teammates - and he didn't want to. Rachel had not talked much to him about the outcome of her reunion with her mother, but Jesse knew enough to understand that it had not gone well. Who was to blame for that, he couldn't say.

But then, at least Shelby wouldn't try to murder him. He was pretty sure Rachel's fathers would the moment they heard what he'd done to their daughter. He was honestly a little surprised at Leroy Berry's civility when they had spoken on the phone days ago, but he'd chalked it up to the man's obvious worry for his only child.

Still, the cops had been right. It was late afternoon now, and even if they left on the next flight it would take quite some time for Leroy and Hiram to get here. And Jesse wasn't about to put Rachel on a train back home now. Not like this. He risked a glance up at her again, and the sight cut him to the quick. She still hadn't moved, and her empty eyes - eyes he remembered so full of life, brimming with emotion - tore at him.

The Berry men it was, then. Sighing inwardly, Jesse picked up his phone. He accessed his call history, found the unfamiliar Ohio number, and hit redial.

"Hello?" A sleepy male voice answered, and Jesse blinked a little. This wasn't the same voice that had called him frantically just a few days ago. It must be Hiram, then.

"Mr. Berry?" he said, forcing his voice into something calm and neutral. Now wasn't the time to sound as unsure as he felt. Now was the time to seem collected and in-control. They'd know something was up soon enough, but it didn't need to be right this minute. "Mr. Berry, it's Jesse. Jesse St. James."

The tired voice on the other end of the line suddenly perked up. "Jesse!" Hiram said, and Jesse heard the static rustling of movement across the connection. "So sorry, son. We've been so worried we haven't been getting much sleep. I must have nodded off for a moment."

The pain and warmth in the other man's voice took Jesse by surprise. What was it with these Berries, constantly doing and saying the unexpected? Why did they all seem hell-bent on screwing with his normal functional life? Jesse didn't know. By all rights, the Berry men should be furious at him. He'd not only dumped their daughter last spring, but he'd deceived her and wounded her deeply. So why were her fathers treating him kindly? It didn't make any sense.

"Mr. Berry, please don't apologize. I was calling to say I have good news." Jesse took a deep breath. "I found Rachel."

"Leroy!" Hiram yelled, and Jesse pulled his phone away from his ear slightly. "Leroy! Leroy, Jesse found her! Come here!" The older man readjusted his voice and sighed heavily into the phone. "Oh, Jesse, we can't thank you enough! Where are you? Where did you find her?"

"New York," Jesse said easily enough. There was no reason to lie about this.

"Thank god. Thank god!" There was a tremor in Hiram's voice that led Jesse to believe he was crying. Again he felt a surge of anger that Rachel had done this to them, to the two men who had raised her and loved her dearly. Almost immediately, though, he made himself look at the broken girl on the couch and the sight killed his rage. This was what his anger had done, and he hated himself for it. Immediately his guilt built up to the point where he wasn't listening to Hiram anymore. He reached out gently and touched Rachel's hand. She did not respond.

"Jesse?" Hiram was saying. "Jesse? Are you there?"

Jesse pulled his attention back to the phone, forcibly dragging his eyes from Rachel's still form. He couldn't concentrate on two things at once if one of those things was her. "I'm here," he confirmed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his free hand. He was getting a headache.

"Let me talk to her, Jesse."

He froze. That wasn't going to happen; it just wasn't. "Mr. Berry, I'd like nothing more, but Rachel's not...good...right now."

Momentary silence on the other end of the line was broken by Hiram's frantic questions. "What happened? Is she hurt? Should she be in the hospital? Jesse - "

"She's not hurt," Jesse said quickly, using his stage voice to power his words over Hiram's. "Not physically at least. But...I really don't know. I was going to send her home on the train, but I don't think that's such a good idea anymore. I think you should come get her."

"We'll be there as soon as we can," Hiram said swiftly. "I'll call you back once we have our travel plans worked out."

As Jesse disconnected the call, he let himself look at Rachel again. He was positive that she wasn't being purposefully stubborn and ignoring him, but he didn't know what to do for her at this point. He knew he'd been wrong to take his anger so far, but when she was stubbornly refusing to admit the foolishness of her actions he'd seen red. All he could think of was making her see reason. Clearly letting his anger get the best of him wasn't a good choice.

Slowly he dropped to his knees in front of the couch, almost face to face with her blank stare. He reached up with one hand, cupping her cheek. She blinked slowly, a soft fluttering of lush eyelashes, and exhaled softly. Her breath brushed the inside of his wrist, and Jesse felt himself steeling against a tremor of his own.

"Rachel?" he asked, for what seemed like the millionth time. Still no answer. "Rachel, I just spoke with your dads. They're on their way. They're coming to get you." Nothing.

Jesse sighed, weaving his fingers into her hair and stroking his thumb across her cheek. Her skin was just as soft as he remembered, so smooth and delicate. "Rachel, look, what do you want me to say?" Jesse St. James did not apologize. Not ever. So what was he supposed to do?

She said nothing.

"You were right, you know," Jesse murmured finally. He dropped his hand from her skin, and the quiet house instantly felt colder. "I did promise you."

She didn't respond, and Jesse plopped down on the couch next to her. It was a fancy antique piece, not comfortable at all. His aunt's parlor looked like a woman of eighty lived there, though he didn't think his aunt was actually much above fifty. She'd likely have a conniption fit when she saw the mud on her floral-print rug, but Jesse didn't care. Getting Rachel out of the foyer and off the ground had been his first priority once it was clear she wasn't going to do it on her own, and so he'd picked her up and carried her in here.

Now Jesse pulled out his phone again, gritting his teeth against this call. He only knew secondhand that Shelby had moved to the city after his senior year in high school, and he didn't know exactly what she was doing here. She'd needed a change, she'd said. Small-town Ohio to New York was a huge change, though.

She picked up on the third ring, sounding frazzled. "What?" she barked sharply. With the sound of that one impatient word, the memories of years of training came back to Jesse. Maybe she was in the big city now, but Shelby hadn't changed at all. She was still brusque and abrupt, still demanding and all-business.

"Is that any way to answer your phone?" It was strange to be talking to this person from his past again. She had been so much more than a coach to him - a mentor, of sorts. She knew Jesse's dreams revolved around the stage, and she believed in him as much as she believed in anybody. Still, Jesse knew that wasn't saying much. Since her own Broadway dreams were shattered, she was cautious about encouraging her students too forcefully. If Shelby Corcoran couldn't make it on the stage with her god-given talent, it was unlikely any of her pupils could.

Except Jesse. Jesse had been the only exception, and he knew it. That was why Shelby had taken him under her wing, but it wasn't a comforting place to be. She pressed him harder, expected more from him than she expected even from the other members of Vocal Adrenaline. She'd done everything in her power to tear down his ego when he was a freshman and sophomore, and he'd pushed right back at her. It wasn't in his nature to back down, even at such a young age.

Now he was hearing her voice again after almost a year, and he didn't know how he felt about it. She had been a huge part of his life for four long, grueling years, and then she'd just disappeared. They hadn't even said goodbye.

"Jesse?" Shelby said cautiously. "Jesse St. James, is that you?"

"In the flesh, as it were." He glanced at Rachel again. Her eyes had fluttered closed, but he didn't believe she was actually sleeping.

"Look, I'm in the middle of rehearsals right now. This isn't a good time. Can I call you back?"

Jesse paused. It was so tempting to just drop the issue so he wouldn't have to face Shelby, but one glance at Rachel and he knew he couldn't do that. Not to her. Not this time. "No, actually," he finally said, forcing the words out with firm intention. This was not the time to sound faint or indecisive. "I'm sorry, Shelby, but this is more important than whatever it is you're doing."

"Who died?"

"Why do you think anyone died?" Jesse shot back before he really thought about it. He knew why she thought it; there was no need to ask. She'd said she was in rehearsal. _Nothing_ was more important than that.

"Jesse, I'm serious. This isn't a good time." Shelby was absent, her voice fading slightly as she turned her mouth away from the phone. "Pick up your feet!" she shouted in the tone Jesse remembered so well from his high school days. "This is not a shuffle, people!"

"I'm serious, too," Jesse snapped. "It's Rachel. Look, it's a long story, but I need you to get over here. The police say she needs an adult right now, and her dads won't be here for a while. We're at my aunt's house." He gave her the address, hoping she wasn't too startled by the news to write it down.

"Jesse, kid, look - " she started, but then she paused. "Wait; did you say police? What do the police have to do with - "

"It doesn't matter!" Jesse tugged on his hair, feeling as frustrated with his old mentor as he ever had when she was being unreasonable. "She's your daughter, goddamn it, and you need to help!"

Silence. Jesse took a breath, holding the phone away from his ear. He hadn't meant to yell. Since when did he raise his voice to Shelby? She was almost as irritating as her daughter, but he knew how to handle her. Suavity worked a hell of a lot better than screeching.

"I'm on my way."

Jesse blinked. Really? That easily? He ended the call and dropped his phone, glancing again at Rachel. She looked small, tucked up against the curved side of the antique couch, and now he couldn't tell if she was sleeping or not. The brash confidence that drew people's eye like a glittering gem was gone, and Jesse didn't know how to coax it back. Slowly he touched her cheek, tracing a tearstain with one careful fingertip. He didn't expect a response, nor did he get one.

There she was. So close - so close that he could touch her. He'd never expected to ever be in this situation again, alone in a room with Rachel Berry. She breathed softly, her full mouth open slightly. Jesse touched his fingertip to the berry-colored flesh of her bottom lip. Her skin was warm, her expression softened, though she was not smiling. He took the silent moment for what it was - the calm before the storm - and allowed himself a moment to really look at her. For the first time since finding her, he paused and really _looked_.

Her hair had been cut since he saw her last. The bangs made her look older than her sixteen years, and he swept them gently to the side to reveal the little scar, barely visible, just above her hairline. When he'd first asked about it, her only response had been that tap shoes were dangerous. Now he traced the tiny divot on her forehead. She was right when she said they hadn't been together very long before he cracked an egg just there, right at that spot. But she was wrong if she thought the brevity of their relationship meant it lacked substance. He knew her so well. He'd known exactly where to find her out of all the places in the world she could have gone. He knew the sound of her breath, how it would catch in her throat whenever he said something she didn't like, just before she let loose a stinging retort. He knew the smell of her, the feel of warm skin through the wool sweaters she favored most of the year. Yes, their relationship had been brief. But that didn't change the fact that she was part of him now.

The one thing he hadn't known, hadn't counted on, was her reaction to his anger. All he'd wanted was to make her see reason. Had the stress finally been too much? He knew she was strong - she had to be, to remain as original as she was. Weaker girls caved in high school. They became clones.

Not Rachel. She was too strong for that. And while he knew perfectly well that she carried a great deal of insecurities around on the inside, she knew who she was. Nothing and no one could take that away from her. Or so he'd thought. Now Jesse wasn't so sure.

She shifted slightly on the uncomfortable couch and exhaled deeply. Jesse smiled a little, though it was not a happy expression. He was sure she was asleep now. He studied her face a little longer, the angles of her cheekbones and the curve of her expressive mouth. Her eyelashes were naturally thick and dark, and Jesse brushed a fingertip below her eye, just where a baggy circle would be if she wasn't sleeping well. But there were no dark circles to find, no blemishes anywhere except a red mark on her jaw where his thumb had gripped her firmly, forcing her to look at him. Guilt sat uneasily in Jesse's gut, and he didn't like the feeling. He wasn't used to it. Jesse St. James did not make mistakes. Jesse St. James had no reason to feel guilty about anything.

And yet...and yet...

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_A/N: Working on a oneshot to "fix" nationals. Rewatching that episode makes me grumpy! Mwah! See you next time!_

_P.S. MissRe, you write the most amazing reviews!_


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Aaand we're back! RL sucks, so I'm escaping into the wonderful world of St. Berry. Was anyone else having trouble reviewing last week? Sometimes it would work for me and sometimes I'd get error messages. Grr. Anyway, all standard disclaimers apply, like always._

* * *

**Scale the Glass Mountain**

Three hours later Shelby had not yet arrived, and Jesse muttered some choice curse words under his breath as he paced the foyer. His old choir director was nothing if not consistent. If she said she was going to do something, she did it. At least, she used to. He scowled at the front door for the umpteenth time, then peered into the parlor where he'd left Rachel.

She was still there, curled in the same awkward position on the decorative couch, and while she was still asleep her expressive face looked troubled. This was the kind of sleep she'd awake from feeling cranky and unrested; Jesse knew from experience.

Pausing in the doorway, Jesse wrestled with his choices. Rachel looked miserable, and he hated to see it. But moving her deeper into his aunt's house - taking her upstairs - would solidify her renewed presence in his life in a profound and irreparable way. He tugged a hand impatiently through his hair, wishing that Shelby and Rachel's dads would hurry up and arrive so they could get this whole unpleasant business over with as quickly as possible. He didn't want to be saddled with Rachel any longer than necessary.

A small, quiet part of Jesse whispered to him, telling him the things he most feared. The damage had already been done. Seeing Rachel again, having her so unnervingly close, had already sent him back into the tailspin of uncertainty he'd tried so hard to forget while in California. Yes, she was part of him. No, his life would never be the same once he'd touched her. But he had been managing. At UCLA, he had been getting by. In time, he'd told himself, he would learn to live peacefully with the ghost of her memory as his constant companion. But that tiny, incessant voice told Jesse that this plan of action was no longer possible. She was too alive, too vital, and seeing her again had turned everything upside down.

Maybe if he hadn't pushed her so far, he tried to tell himself. Maybe if he hadn't made her cry, hadn't forced her into a catatonic state, they could have parted again with little renewed angst between them. But her willful refusal to listen had twisted something inside him - a memory, an emotion long since buried. Rachel _never_ listened to anyone else. She did what she wanted. It was one of the things that drew him to her at first, and also one of the things that made her so infuriating. Her idiotic decision to make that stupid "Run Joey Run" video, for instance, had deeply hurt him. Anyone else could have seen it was a bad idea, but she did it anyway. He had to admit that he was still carrying around some resentment because of it, too.

And that was galling. One stupid play for attention by a high school girl shouldn't still be smarting almost a year later, Jesse thought. Yes, she'd wounded his pride. But he'd always had plenty of that to spare. What was it about the blow from Rachel that hurt so badly? He tried to tell himself that he didn't know, that he had no answers to that particular question, but it was disingenuous and deep down he knew it. Rachel was capable of hurting him in ways very few other people could. Not even his parents. Shelby had once had that kind of power over him, too, but the final messy debacle and redrawing of lines between Vocal Adrenaline and New Directions had destroyed his relationship with his mentor. He no longer cared what Shelby Corcoran had to say. She was banished from his heart, from the miniscule number of people able to see - and therefore wound - the real Jesse St. James. So why was Rachel so different? Why hadn't he been able to banish her as easily as her mother?

With a final irritated oath, Jesse made up his mind. He slipped his arms around Rachel's small frame and lifted her easily. She shifted in her sleep, curling closer in his grip, and Jesse tensed. His mind was screaming at him, warning him that this was not a good idea. But his conscience wouldn't let him just leave her on the uncomfortable couch. So, against his better judgment, he carried her up the stairs and into his room. His aunt hadn't given him permission to disturb any other rooms in the house, and Jesse didn't quite dare to do so without her say-so. She wasn't currently mad at him, and he didn't want to do anything to incur her wrath right now. She'd gone easy on Rachel, whether the girl believed it or not. He was not looking forward to being around when next Becca's ire was fully roused.

Rachel's shoes had been left downstairs, and Jesse didn't bother touching any of her other clothes as he lay her on the lumpy mattress in his godawful room and pulled the blankets over her. She curled into a ball but did not wake, and the unsettled expression did not leave her face.

Jesse toyed with the idea of calling Shelby again. He didn't want to do it, but he also didn't want to sit up all night waiting for her. She'd never been irresponsible like this before, and Jesse didn't know how to respond. Having Shelby back in his life in any form was hard enough, but he was used to her being his rock. She had been the only constant, stable adult figure in his life for four long years. She kept him disciplined, turned him into the highly-trained powerhouse he was today. His successes in life were due to three things: his talent, his parents' money, and Shelby. Whatever debt he might owe her for that weighed heavily on his shoulders, even after so long without contact. She might not be part of his inner circle any more, but a St. James always paid his debts. That had been instilled in Jesse from a very early age.

Just as he was toying with his phone again, the doorbell rang.

Jesse lunged for the stairs, sudden panic gripping his chest. He'd meant to be downstairs and waiting when Shelby arrived. Not upstairs. This was _so_ not good.

As Jesse skidded into the foyer, the sight he'd been meaning to avoid met his eyes. His Aunt Becca stood in the open doorway, her back stiff with displeasure as she eyed the equally-unhappy form of Shelby Corcoran.

Shit.

Shelby and Becca had met before on several occasions, and none had been pleasant. Jesse's aunt disliked show business because of bad blood between herself and her ex-husband. When he left for Paris, trailing like a lovesick fool after a French chorus girl, she swore never to attend the theater or ballet again. Jesse's obvious flair for performing, even as a young child, had therefore grated. She had to be begged and cajoled to attend his performances, and even then oftentimes she refused to go. The appearance of Shelby in Jesse's life marked the turning point where he dedicated himself full time to the performing arts, and Becca never forgave Shelby for it. She swore his choir director was a corrupting influence, turning him against a long-standing tradition of successful family businessmen and women. His scholarship to UCLA, largely influenced by Shelby's recommendations, she considered a personal affront. Though relations between Jesse and his aunt had never been smooth, they became decidedly icier when he announced his intention to matriculate. Becca blamed Shelby, and Jesse suspected she would do so until the day she died. His aunt was never one for changing her mind.

"Jesse." Shelby was the first to notice him, and a look of relief flashed across her sharp features. "Tell your aunt that you called me."

"Three hours ago," Jesse said irritably. He couldn't help himself. It was after eight in the evening now, and he'd been waiting on Shelby for hours. If he'd known it would take her this long to get here, he wouldn't have bothered. Rachel's dads would be here sometime after two a.m., coming in on a red-eye flight. No one would be getting much sleep tonight; that was clear, if nothing else. But Jesse didn't want to see Shelby if he didn't have to, and if he'd known that Rachel would just fall asleep, he wouldn't have called her. Her fathers would be here in a few hours - wasn't that enough?

"Young man," Becca said, turning to Jesse, "you mean to tell me you've invited this...person to my house without asking permission first? You know how I feel about that."

Jesse wanted to retort that he'd never had to ask permission before, but he bit back his words. He knew what this was about, and it wasn't the unannounced nature of Shelby's appearance. The problem was Shelby herself. "She's here about Rachel," he said instead, trying to keep Shelby's relationship with her deliberately vague. Becca already didn't like Rachel. There was no reason to clue her in on the girl's parentage and thus brew even more animosity. Rachel would be gone by the morning if all went well. Bringing up the past at this point was unnecessary.

Still not moving aside to let Shelby in the door, Becca's sharp gaze flicked from one performer to the other. Jesse felt her calculating stare, and he forced himself to stand firm under it. "You're acquainted with the runaway?" she asked finally, directing her question at Shelby though she refused to look directly at her.

"Rachel is my daughter," Shelby said. Jesse mentally facepalmed as he waited for the inevitable reaction. This was exactly what he'd wanted to avoid. He knew Shelby didn't understand his aunt like he did and therefore had no reason to hide the relationship, but he couldn't help the intense irritation he felt toward his former choir director. Shelby was supposed to be a master at reading people. It was the first step in successful manipulation, after all, and what else was acting but another form of it? So why was she tipping her hand?

Becca sniffed, then slowly stepped aside. "I might have known you'd have something to do with a girl like that."

The caution on Shelby's face vanished, replaced with blunt surprise. "Just what are you insinuating?" she demanded. "There's nothing wrong with Rachel."

"Of course you'd think that." Becca glanced at Jesse again. "You - boy. I'm not pleased with this turn of events. For the record, why is that girl in my house if her mother is here in the city?"

"Shelby and Rachel are estranged," Jesse said tightly, "but the police told me to call her, since Rachel's dads couldn't be here right away."

"Estranged?"

Shelby opened her mouth, but before she could say anything Jesse overrode her. He had no wish to know her version of events. "She asked me to help her form a relationship with Rachel last year, which I did. Then she decided the whole motherhood thing wasn't all it was cracked up to be and she split, leaving Rachel in the lurch."

"Jesse - " Shelby started, but his Aunt Becca held up a restraining hand.

"If that's true," the older woman said, her voice firm and clear, "then tell me why I should let her in to see the girl now? It doesn't seem to be in anyone's best interest. Certainly not the child's."

Jesse wanted to ask when his aunt started caring about Rachel's best interest, but he refrained. She was a strange creature, his Aunt Becca. She could turn on you at a moment's notice, but she was also firmly on the side of whomever she thought was being wronged. While she did not approve of Rachel's behavior, she disliked Shelby more. Her animosity toward his former choir director went back years, and Jesse had known that if the two of them met while Rachel was in the house it would not turn out well. But it was a chance he felt compelled to take, since the beat cop said Rachel needed an adult right now.

"Ms. St. James," Shelby said tightly, "do you have children?"

"No," Becca said flatly, "and it sounds like you don't either, so don't try that on me."

"Rachel isn't, strictly speaking, mine," Shelby said. "Jesse's right enough about that. But she's still my daughter. And I have a little girl, a baby I had to pick up from daycare and place with a sitter before I could get here. Traveling from Manhattan isn't easy at this time of night." She folded her arms, looking every inch the polished, talented, dangerous woman Jesse knew her to be. "I did it for Rachel, because Jesse asked me to. Now I'd like to know why."

Jesse's aunt did not look satisfied, but she tapped her cane thoughtfully against the polished floor. "You have until her rightful parents show up," she said finally. "Then I want you out of my house. Don't darken this doorway again."

"Believe me," Shelby said, walking deliberately past her and deeper into the house, "I didn't intend to do it this time." She turned to Jesse. "Where is she?"

"I moved her upstairs a while ago. I didn't know how long you'd be." He jammed his hands deep into his pockets and nodded Shelby toward the stairs. "She's asleep right now."

He heard his aunt disappear back into her sitting room, and he breathed a sigh of relief. At least that was over, for now. Leading the way to his room, he listened to the efficient tap of Shelby's heels behind him. She was dressed smartly in black slacks, a black blazer, and a brilliant red blouse that brought out the dusky undertones to her skin, something Rachel also shared. His memory presented him with a vivid picture of the first time he'd ever seen Rachel - at McKinley's Sectionals competition the previous year. She'd been in black then, with a red sash, and the colors had done the same thing to her young, sweet skin. Biting back a growl of frustration, Jesse pushed the image away. There was no point in dwelling on memories like that now. They were in the past. Jesse had his future to think about - a future that included Los Angeles, but not Rachel Berry.

"So your aunt still hates me, huh?" Shelby said, breaking the awkward silence.

"She's not the only one." Jesse knew the words were unkind, but he couldn't help himself. He didn't even quite know who he was talking about at this point - himself or Rachel. Did he hate Shelby? He really didn't think so. He'd removed her from his life; she was a non-entity now as far as he was concerned. But that wasn't the same as hate, was it? And yet, still there was a hole where his mentor used to be. He had learned to live without her quite successfully, where he wasn't so able to live without Rachel. But that didn't mean her choices hadn't hurt him.

"Look, Jesse - "

"No." He held up his hand to forestall her explanations as they reached his room, and he pushed the door open. Golden lamplight spilled into the darkened hall. "I don't want to hear it. Aunt Becca hates you because you're the reason I'm at UCLA. You're the reason I'm pursuing a theatrical career, and she hates the theater. But as far as I'm concerned, you and I owe each other nothing. Not after last year." He forced himself to look her in the eye, and it was clear Shelby knew exactly what he was talking about. Under normal circumstances, he'd owe her quite a bit actually. But that was before Shelby put the wheels in motion to bring Rachel into their lives. Nothing she'd ever done for him would make up for the mess that had caused for all involved. "But you owe Rachel," he said, pointing Shelby into the room. "You owe her, and that's why you're here."

Shelby hesitated a moment before crossing to the bed. She sat on the edge, the lumpy mattress sagging under her weight. "What happened to her?" she asked, her voice hushed as she watched Rachel sleep. Almost reflexively, she reached out a manicured hand and brushed stray bangs out of Rachel's eyes.

"I don't know what happened in Ohio," Jesse said, leaning against the doorjamb and refusing to move any further into the room. Unpleasant emotions swirled within him, and the maelstrom of unspoken feelings that whirled between Shelby and her sleeping daughter was too much. He couldn't go near it; the pull would drag him irreparably under. "She ran away about a week ago. I found her today." Briefly he sketched the nature of their meeting to Shelby, and the inevitable argument it caused. "Then she broke," he admitted, carefully betraying no emotion. "She wouldn't respond - wouldn't talk to me or the cops. They told me to call you, and Rachel fell asleep. End of story."

"Succinct," Shelby said. "Who knew you could tell a story with just the facts and no melodrama?"

"Bite me, Shelby."

"Watch it, kid. You may not be my responsibility anymore, but we both know rudeness doesn't become you."

"And acting all high and mighty doesn't become _you_. Especially after what you did."

Shelby was silent for a moment. "Did you know Will Schuester asked me to leave her alone?"

"One of his better ideas," Jesse snapped. He hadn't known, but it hardly mattered now.

"He told me I needed to be sure that this was what I wanted, that it wasn't fair to confuse Rachel by going forward with a relationship I might not be completely sure of."

"You can second-guess relationships with significant others, but not with children," Jesse argued. Shelby's words were hitting a little too close to home for comfort. His relationship with his own parents was strained to say the least, and while most of the time he could pretend he didn't care, seeing the same thing happen to Rachel struck a nerve. "You're supposed to figure all that shit out before you have kids."

"I was young," Shelby reminded him gently. "I'd never had a child before. I didn't know how giving her up - how all of those unanswered questions - would affect me. I couldn't know, Jesse. And Schuester made me realize something. Rachel isn't mine. And I don't just mean legally. Emotionally, she doesn't belong to me the way she belongs to her dads. They're good, loving parents, and it's not right for me to go messing with their family dynamics. But Rachel will always be a part of me." She paused and leveled a shrewd gaze at Jesse. "Just like she'll always be a part of you."

Jesse wanted to deny it. Irritation at Shelby's assumptions flared in his stomach, but she pushed on with her speech without letting him cut in.

"That's why you flew all this way to find her, and why I'm here now, too. Because she may not belong to us, but we're all tied together now because of circumstances and the choices we've made."

"The choices _you_ made," Jesse muttered.

"You agreed to help me. Nobody forced you." Shelby touched Rachel's forehead again, ran her fingers down the girl's sleeping cheek. "Jesse, I will never be able to fix what I did to either of you when I chose to get you involved. I could say I'm sorry until I die, but it wouldn't change anything."

She got that right, Jesse thought bitterly. He was stuck with Rachel now, for better or for worse. It was like being married, without the benefits.

"But I can see that the distance isn't making anything better, either. You ran as far away from her and me as you could get, and frankly, you're a wreck, kid." One side of her mouth lifted slightly, though there was no humor in the gesture. "You may not believe I'm a good mother, but let me tell you something. I'm one _hell_ of a teacher. And the teacher in me knows that when you fall off a horse, you don't run away. You get back up again."

"Spare me your metaphors." Jesse straightened, flexing his tired shoulders. He wasn't going to stand here and listen to Shelby's justifications any longer. "Stay with her. I'm going downstairs to wait for her dads."

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_A/N: Next chapter we get an appearance from Rachel's dads, a plan from Shelby, and more Conflicted!Jesse. Again, I'm sorry these chapters are so short. Hopefully the length of my oneshots makes up for it! Mwah! Love you, duckies!_


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: I want to quickly take a moment and apologize for not being better about responding to reviews. I love everything you have to say: suggestions, constructive criticism, and all. I promise to be better about it. Bad stuff's been going on in RL. Yesterday I had to make the decision to put my beloved cat to sleep. He was in the animal hospital ICU for quite some time, and yesterday the vet let me know she didn't see much point in continuing care. I was with him when he went to sleep and it was very peaceful. But now I've got a devastated five-year-old on my hands, who doesn't really understand about death and has known our cat all his life. So that's what's going on here, and why I've been remiss in responding and updating. Hearing from y'all makes my day just that little bit brighter, though, and I could really use some of that virtual sunshine! So thank you from the bottom of my heart! _

_P.S. - Brenda, your review was unsigned so I can't respond to you personally, but getting it yesterday made the day that much easier to get through. Thank you so much!_

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**Scale the Glass Mountain**

Hiram Berry waited anxiously while his partner paid the cab driver, looking up at the tall brownstone house before him. One light shone in a second-floor window, and he thought he saw some illumination through the glass inset on the front door, but he couldn't be sure. He shifted nervously from foot to foot, unable to keep still. If they got the address correct, Rachel was inside that house at this very minute. He had to force himself not to snap at Leroy to hurry up - he didn't want to shout at his partner, especially at this time of night, but he _needed_ to know that Rachel was okay. He needed to see her, needed to let her know how much he and Leroy still loved her despite what she had done.

It had killed them when they realized she ran away. Rachel was their little girl, still so young and naive, and the thought of her alone somewhere filled him with fear. Despite the almost constant bullying he knew she suffered at school, she was still so trusting of people. She expected the best out of everyone. That was partially what worried him so much about her runaway attempt. What kind of people would she meet, and what would they do to the brash, impulsive girl he and Leroy had raised?

Hiram wasn't stupid. He knew Rachel was special, and that life in Ohio was difficult for her because of her uniqueness. He and Leroy did their utmost to support her, taking her to the best vocal and dance instructors in the area. If she had ever asked it of them, they probably would have seriously considered moving somewhere else, somewhere she could pursue her chosen arts more professionally. But Rachel never asked, and so they let it slide. Hiram knew she would leave Ohio when she graduated, and he and Leroy were prepared for that. But he hadn't expected her to ever run away like this. He thought they had a good relationship with their daughter, and that she'd come to them with her problems instead of doing something so rash.

Now he seriously had to consider how much he really knew about his little girl, and he hated it.

"Thank god Jesse found her," Leroy said, hefting their hastily-packed carry-on bags and stepping up beside Hiram.

"I didn't know what good it would do when you suggested calling him," Hiram admitted. "I didn't think he and Rachel were still speaking after they broke up."

"I doubt they were," Leroy said. "You know how Rachel's always carrying on about being a little psychic? Well, she gets that from me." He half-smiled wanly. To Hiram's eyes, he looked exhausted. Dark circles marred the skin under his eyes, and his shoulders sagged a little under the weight of their bags. A week of not knowing where their daughter was had taken a toll on both of them. "I just had a feeling he could find her."

"I'll never mock those feelings from either of you ever again," Hiram vowed.

They hastened up the front steps, and Hiram knocked quietly. He didn't want to disturb the entire household by ringing the doorbell; Jesse had mentioned that this was his aunt's residence, and Hiram wanted to cause as little trouble as possible for the woman in question. He was already beyond grateful that she had allowed Rachel to stay while her fathers hopped the first available flight to New York, and he didn't want to push. He and Leroy didn't know much about Jesse's family, but he got the distinct feeling that they weren't close. Not the way he, Leroy, and Rachel were.

After a moment, the sound of heels on a hard floor met Hiram's ears, but he wasn't prepared for the sight that greeted him when the door opened. Standing before him was none other than Rachel's birth mother, Shelby Corcoran.

"Shelby?" Leroy managed to recover first, and Hiram put a hand on his partner's arm. This wasn't a terribly welcome turn of events. Rachel hadn't discussed her reunion with Shelby at length - not with them, and not with her therapist - but they knew enough to understand that something hadn't gone well. Whether it was Rachel's fault or Shelby's, or a mixture of the two, Hiram didn't know. But he knew that Shelby had left Ohio and Rachel had not mentioned her mother's name since.

Shelby stepped aside, motioning them into the elegant old house. She held a finger up to her lips. "I'm sorry we had to meet again like this," she said, her voice soft, as if she were afraid to wake an infant. "Jesse fell asleep a while ago. He's an absolute wreck, and I don't want to wake him. I don't know where Rebecca is, but it's my hope that she's asleep, too." She shuddered a little. "Trust me, you don't want to meet her if you can help it."

"Is she Jesse's aunt?" Hiram asked hesitantly as Leroy dropped their bags just inside the door. Shelby closed and locked it behind them and took a deep breath as if steeling herself.

"Where's Rachel?" Leroy demanded. Yes, Hiram thought, that was the more immediate question. Trust Leroy to cut right to the heart of the matter.

"Upstairs. She's asleep right now, but I assume you want to see her?"

"Yes," Leroy said firmly, and the two men trailed behind Shelby as she led them up a dimly-lit set of stairs and into a dark hallway.

"I know I'm not your favorite person, especially after last year," Shelby said. "I'm not Jesse's, either, to be honest. But he said the police wanted Rachel to have an adult with her, and I was in the city. Now that you're here, you can take over parental duties. I just want you to know that I'm not trying to overstep."

Hiram looked at his partner before answering. He knew Leroy so well by now that just a glance told him they were on the exact same page. "We don't actually know much about what happened between you and Rachel last year," he admitted. "She doesn't like to talk about it."

"She's not the only one." Shelby paused in the hallway. There wasn't much light coming up the stairwell, and Hiram couldn't make out the expression on her face. He had to admit that they didn't really know Shelby terribly well. She had been a bouncy, joyful young woman when they met her, full of life and dreams. Time had honed her, sharpening her edges and wearing away at the bright innocence that Rachel still possessed. Yet in so many ways, she was so very much like the daughter she had produced. It was disconcerting, and Hiram didn't know how he felt about Shelby's presence here with Rachel.

Still, seeing his daughter was the most important thing, and he waited with barely concealed impatience for Shelby to point them to the right room.

She continued to stand in the hallway, though, and she clasped her hands nervously before her. "I don't know how much you know about Jesse and I," she said carefully. "He was a very special student of mine. We fought and lost touch last year - he was very angry with me, and rightly so. I can't go back and change the past, but I think we need to talk."

"After we see Rachel," Leroy said firmly. Hiram agreed.

"Of course." Shelby opened a door, and a dim wash of lamplight spilled into the hall. "I'll be waiting downstairs when you're ready to talk."

Hiram didn't spare her another glance as he hurried into the room. True to Shelby's word, Rachel lay curled in a little ball on the wide bed. He released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding as he crossed the room in an instant, finding Rachel's hand and fitting it into his grasp. She breathed evenly, not waking as Leroy slipped around to the other side of the bed, sitting next to her and pulling her hair back gently, stroking her head as he had so often done when she was small.

"Thank god," Leroy murmured. "Thank god. I didn't want to tell you before, but I honestly wasn't sure if we'd ever see her again."

"I know." Hiram squeezed her hand. Outwardly, she looked fine. She was wearing one of her favorite sweaters, and he could see no bruises or other marks on what little skin was showing. "Should we wake her up?"

"Let her sleep." Leroy kissed the crown of her head and squeezed her shoulder. "I don't know what prompted her to run away, but it had to be bad. She wouldn't do this to us normally." They were words he and Hiram had repeated to each other many times over the past week, but there was a calmer flow to them now. Hiram understood. Now that they knew their daughter was safe, they could wait to learn just what had happened.

"What do we do when she wakes?" Hiram pressed his palm against hers. They had set Rachel's handprints in plaster of paris every year from the time she was a baby until she was twelve, but he hadn't measured her hand against his in a long time. It still seemed small to him, her fingers slender and delicate. He wasn't a big man, but he had to remind himself that Rachel would always be smaller than him, even when she was fully grown. That was part of having a daughter rather than a son. She would always be his little girl, no matter how much she grew. "Scold? Punish? Cry? Jump for joy?"

"A little of them all, I expect." Leroy shook his head, a foolish, fond smile playing over his face as he watched Rachel sleep. "We've never been much good at punishing her, and I doubt we'll be able to start now."

"She's never really needed it," Hiram protested. His voice was a little too loud, and Rachel shifted in her sleep, making a protesting noise as she buried her head further into the pillow. Hiram had to chuckle quietly. She used to do the exact same thing when she was a baby. Though she was a young woman now, on her way to being grown, she was still very much the child he had sat up with, night after night, when she was sick or cranky. Some habits she would likely never outgrow.

"I think we need to know just why she did what she did before we make any decisions," Leroy said softly. "She's safe, and for the moment that's really all that matters."

They sat in silence for a while. Hiram took the time to really absorb the fact that she was safe once again, and that he could reach out and touch her if he wanted. He kept a light grip on her hand, unwilling to sever the contact. Rachel was safe, he told himself. Safe. Something had happened, or else Jesse wouldn't have called them so urgently. But whatever it was, they could deal with it. Physically she seemed fine, and that was the most important thing.

"You're not very happy about Shelby being here," he said finally.

Leroy stretched his legs out on the bed and sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The gold band of his wedding ring flashed in the dim lamplight. "No," he admitted. "I'm not. I don't have any better idea than you do what happened last year, but Shelby isn't Rachel's parent. We are. I'm not mad at Jesse - I know he was only trying to do the right thing. But that doesn't mean I'm happy about it. We drew up that contract for a reason. We didn't want Rachel getting confused or hurt."

"I didn't realize how difficult the prospect of sharing her would be," Hiram said quietly. "I'll admit I was relieved when Shelby left town."

"Rachel knows who her parents are." Leroy touched his partner's shoulder. "She's always going to be our little girl."

"I know that," Hiram said, "and I'll admit I'm glad someone was here with her when we couldn't be. But I worry about Rachel, too. Shelby gave us the most precious gift in the world, and I'll always feel indebted to her because of it. But she doesn't seem to be the most reliable person. She already left Rachel after making that connection last year. I don't want Rachel getting her hopes up again if Shelby's just going to walk away a second time."

"This is a huge mess." Leroy glanced fondly at his sleeping daughter. "I didn't even know Jesse and Shelby were acquainted."

"It doesn't really matter anymore," Hiram said. "Shelby's living in the city, and Jesse will go back to L.A. while we return to Ohio. Maybe it'll all be like this whole mess never happened."

"Do you really believe that?"

Hiram sighed. "No," he admitted, "I don't. But I don't know what to do about it either."

"Talking to Shelby is probably a start." Leroy pulled himself off the bed and offered his hand to Hiram. "Are you ready?"

"I guess." Hiram took one last long look at his sleeping daughter. "If she's asleep, it's not like she's going anywhere."

They both kissed Rachel's sleeping cheek before heading downstairs again. Shelby was waiting for them in the foyer, and she looked a little nervous.

"I was wondering if I could trouble you for a little help," she said.

"With what?"

"Getting Jesse upstairs." She motioned them into the next room, and Hiram had to bite back a laugh at the sight. The room was a stifling mix of uncomfortable antiques, and his daughter's ex-boyfriend was sprawled on a floral-print couch, his cheek mashed into the carved wooden arm and his pretty brown curls spilling over the side. "I don't want to wake him up, but watching him sleep like that is making _me_ hurt. I can't imagine what he'll feel like in the morning if we let him stay there."

Leroy chuckled. "Well, he found Rachel for us. The least we could do is help him get a good night's sleep." He checked his watch and Hiram saw him grimace. "What's left of it, that is."

"He's a college student," Hiram reasoned. "He ought to know how to stay up late and then sleep all day."

"Not Jesse." Shelby smiled, but the gesture was laced with sadness. "He's not like that."

Hiram was too tired to inquire about the exact nature of Shelby's relationship with his daughter's ex-boyfriend. Instead, he and Leroy both took an arm, slowly drawing Jesse to his feet between them. They draped his arms over their shoulders and began walking him toward the stairs. He shuffled his feet automatically, like a zombie, and Hiram had to bite back another laugh.

He'd never really expected to see Jesse St. James again, Hiram had to admit. Rachel had not been forthcoming about their breakup, but she did say that he was going away to college soon in any event. Hiram supposed, at the time, that it was for the best. Long-distance relationships never worked out, especially at such a young age. Temptation was too great, and teenagers were not known for their patience. Still, Hiram had liked Jesse best out of all the boyfriends Rachel brought home. Finn was...well, boring. Not bad, but bland. He remembered wondering at the time what Rachel saw in him, unless it was just the fact that he was easy to boss around. Noah Puckerman went to their synagogue - when he was dragged by his mother - and Hiram had known the boy most of his life. He was more than a little relieved when Rachel's short-lived relationship with him ended. He doubted that Noah meant any real harm, but the kid was immature and he caused trouble because he didn't know how to think his actions through.

But Jesse, though - Jesse had been different from the start. He was a perfect gentleman while Rachel's fathers were around, and while Hiram knew it was an act to win their approval, he appreciated the effort. Not many boys these days cared what their girlfriends' families thought. It didn't hurt that Jesse was also the best-looking boy Rachel had brought home, either. For a while Hiram had been afraid that Rachel would never find a boy who could handle her. He loved his daughter dearly, but he wasn't blind. She had a big personality, and her constant drama was a lot to deal with. The fact that Jesse St. James had a great deal of his own drama had been vastly reassuring. While he didn't know if the two would ultimately end up hating each other because they were too alike, at least Rachel had found someone who liked her other than that poor, pathetic Jacob kid.

Now Hiram helped Leroy assist Jesse up the stairs of his aunt's house. It was a surreal sort of tableau in which he found himself - three in the morning, Jesse St. James' arm slung over his shoulder, the boy still three-quarters asleep as he stumbled up the stairs, Shelby spotting behind them. Utterly ridiculous. If someone had told Hiram a week ago that he'd be in this situation, he would have laughed. But now he paused at the top of the stairs, letting Shelby slide past them. "Which room?" he asked.

"With Rachel," Shelby whispered back.

"No," Leroy said firmly from the other side of Jesse.

"They're both asleep," Shelby said, opening the door to the dimly lit room. "What are you afraid they'll get up to while they sleep?" She motioned them forward. "I'm not terribly familiar with this house, and I don't want to accidentally disturb a room that will bring Rebecca's wrath down on us."

The dead weight of Jesse was getting heavy, and Hiram wasn't inclined to argue. Not this late at night. Besides, he trusted Rachel. She'd never given him reason not to, unless he counted this foolish runaway attempt. He moved forward, hearing Leroy's reluctant sigh as his partner matched him. They maneuvered Jesse into the bedroom and lay him down on the queen-sized bed. Jesse mumbled something that Hiram doubted was a coherent thought, then subsided. The room was warm enough, so they didn't bother covering him with any blankets.

"Do you want to go downstairs to talk?" Shelby asked, her voice contemplative as she watched the two teenagers sleep. Jesse lay where he had fallen, sprawled across most of the bed, while Rachel was still tucked into a little ball. She didn't usually sleep like that, Hiram thought. Not that he knew of, anyway.

"We can talk here as long as we're quiet," Leroy said. He settled himself on the floor, leaning against the bed. "I'm exhausted, but I'll admit that I'm impatient to know what happened. Jesse said Rachel wasn't...wasn't feeling good?" He frowned. "Those weren't his exact words, but he led us to believe that something was up. Something that prevented him from sending her home like he planned."

"Yes," Shelby said quietly. "I don't know everything, but I know some of it. And I'll tell you now that I'm afraid a great deal of this is my fault."

"Your fault?" Suspicion rose in Hiram's heart. "Did you tell her to come here?"

"No," Shelby said quickly. "Not that. I don't know why she ran away, and as far as I know I had nothing to do with it. But the rest of it..." She sighed, exhaling a breath through her nose. "I'm not proud of the story I have to tell you, but it sounds like Rachel hasn't said anything and I think you need to hear it."

Hiram perched himself on the low chest of drawers and let Shelby take the desk chair. He had a sinking feeling that this night was about to get even longer.

"First, please understand that I never meant Rachel or Jesse any harm," Shelby said quietly. "He's furious with me and I can't blame him, but it was never my intention to hurt anyone. I just wanted to make that clear before we move on."

Leroy frowned. "You hurt Rachel?" His tone was faintly menacing, and Hiram watched him warily.

Shelby did not seem cowed by the man's suspicion, though. "Inadvertently," she said, "and indirectly. But yes, I believe I hurt her, and I am so, so sorry for it."

"What did you do?" Leroy demanded.

Shelby paused. "Will you let me start at the beginning?"

Hiram answered before Leroy could. He didn't want his partner saying something they might later regret. "If it's necessary," he said, "take all the time you need."

"Thank you." Shelby cast a glance at the bed. Hiram couldn't read the expression on her face as she watched her teenage daughter sleep quietly next to the boy who had somehow known where to find her when she ran away. He had no idea what sort of relationship Shelby might have with Jesse, or why the boy was apparently so upset with her, but he hoped giving Shelby the time to collect herself and tell the story in her own way meant that everything would soon become clear.

"I never stopped thinking about Rachel," Shelby began finally. "I can't have any more children of my own, and while I never really regretted what I chose to do, I did miss her. I knew you would be good parents, but I always wondered, you know? I think it would be impossible not to."

Hiram supposed it was only natural for Shelby to wonder. He might too, in a similar situation.

"But I never really planned to do anything about it. Rachel was yours, and I told myself I had to live with that fact." A small smile played over her sharp features. "Then fate intervened."

"How so?" Hiram asked.

"I saw her sing last year at Sectionals." Shelby shook her head. "I knew the moment I laid eyes on her - I didn't even have to look for your last name in the program. She looked so much like me." Her eyes were suspiciously bright, and Hiram heard her take a deep, steadying breath. "I was there in an official capacity, scoping out our competition for Regionals. Jesse was with me, and he knew the minute I did. He said there was something similar about us - a spark, maybe. Just...something." The first tear dropped, and Shelby made no move to wipe it away. "He's a good kid, and he's always been special to me. His parents dote on him, but they're distant. Before he met me, he was just a cute, arrogant little monster with an alarming amount of talent. Nobody had ever tried to discipline him. I gave him direction and a life goal. I gave him an aim. I can't say he was like a son really, but he was certainly the most talented kid I've ever coached. We became close, and I was the sole disciplinarian in his life for four long years."

"Are you the reason for his attitude?" Leroy asked suspiciously

"I'm the reason for the manners that mitigate that attitude," Shelby shot back. "In any case, I knew the minute I saw Rachel that I had to talk to her. I understand that she's not legally mine, but the law can't dictate matters of the heart. I don't expect you to agree with my decision or even to understand it, but she is the only child I am ever going to bear and I needed to talk to her. But we'd made a deal and signed a contract, so I couldn't contact her directly."

Hiram got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. His head didn't quite know where this was going, but his heart was quickly catching on. "Jesse," he said quietly.

"Jesse," Shelby agreed. "He was a senior and already had his scholarship to UCLA. I told him my story and asked for his help. I pitched it to him as an acting exercise, and he eagerly agreed to it." She smiled wanly. "He's always been a heartbreaker. I don't know how many former and current members of Carmel's show choir lost their virginity to him, and frankly, I don't want to. It's none of my business. For the record, though, I'd like to state that I never asked him to seduce her. Just befriend her. That next step he took on his own."

Hiram glanced worriedly at his partner, who looked altogether too calm at the moment. "Leroy? You okay?" he asked cautiously.

"Oh, I'm fine. Don't worry - we'll let him get a good night's sleep. Then, in the morning, we'll kill him."

"Please wait a moment before you pass judgment," Shelby said, holding up her hand. "On Jesse, at least. While this whole mess did start out as a game on his part, I believe it quickly turned into something else entirely. All he was supposed to do was get her to admit that she wondered about her mother's identity, and then give her a cassette tape I'd recorded for her. I knew that once she heard me sing, heard how similar our voices are, she'd feel compelled to come and find me herself. That's all Jesse was supposed to do." She paused and glanced at the bed again. "The plan quickly unraveled, though. He kept putting it off and started spending more and more time with her. Then one day he came to rehearsal with transfer papers. Said he was changing schools." Shelby laughed softly. "He's such a good manipulator that it even worked on me. He said he would be better able to do the job I had given him if Rachel didn't question his motives, and the only way to do that was to quit Vocal Adrenaline. I wasn't happy about losing my best performer, but we were both in too deep to stop now, and I _had_ to see Rachel. So I signed the papers and let him transfer, but I gave him an ultimatum and a deadline. I explained to him very calmly that McKinley's show choir would never take Nationals, even with him at the helm, and if he wanted that fourth consecutive national title, he needed to come back to Vocal Adrenaline by the set date. We met periodically, but he kept dawdling and making excuses and that isn't at all like Jesse. I should have suspected how deep he had fallen by then, but I didn't. I assumed - wrongly, I now suspect - that he cared about winning more than anything else."

"You're saying he fell for Rachel?" Hiram glanced at the sleeping teens. "I find that a little hard to believe, Shelby. It sounds like the plot of a bad teen movie."

She shrugged. "I told Will Schuester once that the heart wants what the heart wants. I didn't realize at the time how true those words were. It broke Jesse when the deadline came and he had to give Rachel my tape and return to Vocal Adrenaline. I know it sounds silly, but I truly think it did break something in him. He's never been a terribly open person, but he shut completely down after that. It was like he was trying to protect himself from getting hurt again. He refused to talk to me or the other members of our team, and he was all business during rehearsals. It was like the person inside him disappeared."

Shelby paused again, and Hiram took the time to digest what she'd told him so far. He had a hard time reconciling the polite, suave young man he'd met with the picture of Jesse Shelby was painting. But, then, Rachel was a complicated individual. He supposed there was no real reason for her to choose a simple man. "How much of this does Rachel know?" he asked quietly. His daughter came first, before any other consideration, and he needed to know whether she was okay.

"Most if not all, I would presume." Shelby glanced at the bed again. "She and I never spoke about Jesse's involvement, but he insinuated to me that he told her the truth at some point."

"After he broke things off?"

"I don't really know when. All I know is secondhand from other members of Vocal Adrenaline." Shelby twisted her hands together uncomfortably in her lap. "Did Rachel tell you about the egging incident?"

"There have been many eggings," Leroy said drily. "We're experts at cleaning that crap off the side of the house."

"No, not like that. This attack was personal." Shelby's hands didn't still, and Hiram could tell that she was extremely nervous about what she had to say. "My kids have always had a tradition of psyching out the competition before a big event like Regionals. Last year, though, I'll admit they went a little far."

Hiram frowned. Eggings weren't pleasant, but they were harmless enough. Whatever Shelby had to say, he suspected there was more to it than just the act of throwing eggs.

"TP-ing and egging are traditional razzes," Shelby continued. "But the team decided to rub McKinley's faces in Jesse's deception on top of it all." She shook her head again. "I don't know why he agreed. He won't talk to me, so I may never know. But if I had to guess, I'd say that he was trying to eject Rachel from his life in a very final way. Nobody has ever had the kind of power over him that a true, loving partner would. I suspect he felt trapped with no good options, and he took the childish way out."

"What did he do?" Leroy demanded.

"Keep in mind that I only heard from other members of the team so I can't say for sure, though they really had no reason to lie. They said that he lured her into the parking lot alone for the egging to take place." Pain flashed across Shelby's sharp, angular face. "I don't know, but I imagine she must have cared about him deeply if she was willing to meet him again like that so soon after he returned to Carmel."

Hiram bit his tongue as he stood, striding to the window to stare out at the dark streets of Brooklyn. He didn't want to say anything just yet because nothing that came out of his mouth at the moment would be pleasant. He was glad to finally know what had happened between Rachel and her ex-boyfriend, but the information filled him with anger just the same. How _dare_ someone do something like that? Both Shelby and Jesse had used and manipulated his little girl for their own purposes, and in the end both had left her. It just wasn't fair. Rachel was brash and abrasive, but there was a soft, tender core to her. She had an innocence that Shelby and Jesse obviously lacked. Exploiting that innocence was worse than unkind - it was downright cruel.

And why hadn't Rachel told him or Leroy any of this when it happened? Hiram didn't know, and he suspected that the only person who could explain it to him was Rachel herself. If she was willing. She had her own reasons for doing things, reasons that were deeply inscrutable until she explained them. Often her explanations made perfect sense in a twisted, very Rachel-like sort of way.

"Meanwhile, Will Schuester called me into his office to talk. He said he was concerned that Rachel wanted more out of our reunion than I was prepared to give." Shelby smiled softly. "He's a good man, and a wonderful teacher. He was concerned for Rachel's well-being. He made me realize that Rachel is practically grown, and she doesn't really need me. My reasons for reuniting with her were selfish, and that's why I broke things off. I told her we needed some space. Soon after, I adopted a baby girl and accepted a job at a community teaching theater in Manhattan. It's not Broadway and it's not glamorous, but it's not high school either." She shrugged. "I hadn't spoken to either of them since, until Jesse called me this evening - yesterday evening now, I guess - and told me to get over here."

"I really don't know what to say, Shelby," Leroy said quietly. He reached up and lay a hand against Rachel's blanketed knee where it rested close to his head. "I know Mr. Schuester means well, but...I just don't know. She's not the baby you gave us all those years ago, but she's not an adult yet, either and she's still so delicate. What you did really hurt her. You're right that she doesn't need you, but that doesn't mean she didn't want you. You devastated her, and you need to know that."

"I don't know how to be a mother to a teenager. I thought leaving was the best thing I could do."

"I wish you had talked to us about it first. You gave her life, but you're not her mom. She's an amazing young woman and I understand your wish to connect with her, but I can't begin to explain to you the harm you did."

"You don't need to. I may not know Rachel well, but I can see the effect of what I did every time I look at Jesse. This whole mess hurt him, too, and badly."

"He'll get over it," Leroy said, dismissing Jesse offhand. "He's at college in L.A., with plenty of distractions."

Shelby shook her head. "That's not Jesse. I don't think you understand. Before he met Rachel, the only thing he cared about was the stage. Winning competitions and being the best - that's all Jesse knows. He's never had to work for anything before. But Rachel made him struggle, and she made him really _feel_, and I don't think he's forgiven her for either of those things. But I saw from the moment I stepped into this house that he's a wreck, and I think it's because of the unfinished business between him and Rachel."

"He still loves her," Hiram said quietly from the window.

"The heart wants what the heart wants," Shelby repeated.

"You just got through telling us that it was all a game to him," Leroy argued.

"It started out that way. I don't for one minute believe he still felt the same when it ended. I don't know what would have happened between them if I had released him. I suspect it's possible he might have stayed at McKinley and competed against me and Vocal Adrenaline. Like I said, no one has ever been able to reach inside of him. Not even me. But the way he talks about Rachel - I think she gets to him and he doesn't know how to deal with it."

Jesse shifted in the resulting silence, moving in his sleep. He was above the blankets and Rachel was below, but he spooned his body around hers, drawing close against her back and tucking an arm into the crook of her curled body. Rachel made a soft noise but did not wake, and all Hiram could do was stare. He didn't know much about Jesse St. James, but he could see the gravitational pull between him and Rachel, the two exerting pressure on each other, tugging inexorably. He'd seen it between them before, but never as defined as now, when they were both sleeping, their guards down and their inner selves vulnerable to view. Jesse sighed and settled, an unspoken tension leeching from his body as he drifted deeper into sleep wrapped around Rachel's curled form.

"This isn't working," Shelby said softly. "We need to settle things between the two of them. Maybe me, too, but their relationship is my first priority."

"Rachel is our priority," Leroy argued. "Not him. I realize I'm the one who called him, but that doesn't mean I'm happy about any of this."

"He found her," Shelby reminded him. "He found her within a matter of days, when nobody else knew where to look. There's a bond there, and you can't deny it. I'm not saying I want to play matchmaker or anything like that. Frankly, I think it would probably be best for all involved if they could just hash things out and part amicably. But Jesse is stubborn, and strong, and I don't think that's going to happen quickly or easily."

"What do you suggest, then?"

Shelby took a deep breath. "I have a plan. You're not going to like it, but I need you to hear me out."

* * *

_A/N: Next time Rachel (finally!) gets to tell her side of the story, and we learn what Shelby has up her sleeve. _


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: So here's my excuse this time for such a belated update. It's common knowledge by now that Idina Menzel (Shelby Corcoran) is returning to the show this coming season. As soon as I heard, I wanted to get as much of this story finished as possible before she came back—I just *know* they're going to write her differently than I do, and I hate being OOC! So then I was putting all this pressure on myself to hurry up, and of course that brought me to an absolute standstill. I think I've worked through my inner freak-out now, though. ;-)_

_Part of this chapter has to do with the Tom Cruise 1983 classic "Risky Business." Okay, really only that iconic scene everyone knows where he goes dancing around in his underwear. If you're unfamiliar with it, just search on YouTube for "Risky Business Dance Scene" and tons of clips will pop up. I loathe songfics, so this is the closest you're ever gonna get to seeing me do one. (And now that I've said that, I will inevitably have to eat my words at some point. Sigh.)_

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

**Scale the Glass Mountain**

Rachel woke to warmth. She blinked slowly, staring blankly at a beige wall she couldn't remember ever seeing before. Where was she? What was going on? She adjusted her head on a lumpy pillow and scowled, reaching back into her memory as her groggy mind stretched and expanded, returning bit by bit to its normal wakeful state. She remembered going to that stupid audition and being locked in an empty room in a run-down office building. She remembered calling Jesse, and how ridiculously reassuring his haughty, superior tone had been. Not because she particularly liked that side of him, but because it was something familiar when she was frightened and out of her depth.

And his confidence _had_ helped to center her, to get her out that window, down the fire escape, and into his arms. The first touch of skin had been so strange—so familiar even after all that had happened between them and all the time apart. She'd accepted the immediate comfort he offered despite everything, craving the stability of something familiar. Jesse St. James was anything but stable, but at that moment he was all she had.

His later actions only proved to her how unsuitable he was, not just as boyfriend material, but as a decent human being in general. She fumed silently, remembering just how he'd backed her into the wall, using his larger body to try to intimidate her when she was already so out of her depth. Really, what had he been thinking? It was beyond cruel, particularly after his aunt had just finished her own rant about Rachel's shortcomings.

Remembering the awful things Jesse's aunt had said to her, Rachel had to bite back tears. Sure, she was annoying, conceited, and possibly too rash about making decisions, but that was no reason to bring her dads' parenting skills to task. They weren't responsible for the way she behaved. They'd been good parents, always. Just the thought of them now made her chest ache with a hollow, wrenching sort of pain. She missed them badly—missed how they woke her up early with presents on her birthday, and the way the three of them would curl up together in the living room for movie nights. She missed their support—the effortless way they could always make her feel better, no matter what went on in that terrible high school she never wanted to see again.

But their love and encouragement hadn't been enough this last time and, rather than talking to them, she'd chosen to hop a train for the bright lights of New York. Plenty of successful performers never finished high school. She was done with that place and its petty rivalries, its cruel bullies and ridiculous expectations. She wanted to make a new start, playing by her own rules.

Except things hadn't really gone according to plan.

Rachel stared at the beige wall, blinking slowly. No, nothing had gone right in this failed attempt at making it big in New York. The city had its own rules, and they were just as rigid and uncompromising as McKinley's. She had to prove herself here, too, and so far no one had given her a chance. Then she'd apparently screwed up royally by going to that last audition, which probably wasn't a real audition in the first place. But how was she to know? How could she possibly know the good ads from the false ones? It wasn't like on the Internet, where anyone promising you money for nothing was suspect.

But Jesse had seemed to know. He'd berated her for her foolishness, and though she hated to admit it, she guessed he was probably right regardless of his deplorable actions. She wasn't ready for this. Maybe she never would be. She didn't know what she needed to know to survive in this city. And after yesterday, she didn't think she wanted to learn. Maybe going back home was the best thing for her, despite the bullying. She was lonely and scared, and she missed her dads. At the moment she wanted nothing more than to grab hold of them and cry, apologizing over and over for her rash actions and promising never to leave home again. This city was too big and too mean. If she couldn't handle high school, what made her think she could possibly take on New York?

Suddenly, something behind her shifted. Rachel clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a squeal of surprise, and she scrambled out of the bed. Eyes wide, she knelt next to the old bedframe, breathing heavily as she stared at the body still sleeping peacefully beside the indent she'd made in the mattress.

It was Jesse. Somehow, sometime during the night, Jesse St. James had climbed into bed with her.

Rachel clutched her arms around herself as she staggered to her socked feet, unable to tear her eyes from his sleeping form. He was sprawled on top of the blankets, his face turned into the pillow and his expression solemn even as he slept. With a start, she realized that she'd never actually seen him sleep before. Writers always said people looked innocent and childlike when they slept, but not Jesse. He looked just as he did awake—beautiful and dangerous and anything but sweet.

Catching her breath, Rachel glanced rapidly around the room for her shoes. Not finding them, she hesitated. Jesse would know where they were, but she didn't want to wake him. She wanted to leave now, while he still slept. She'd go to the police and tell them what happened—hadn't Jesse wanted to do that last night anyway? They'd help her call her dads and get home. She could walk out of Jesse St. James' life right now, with none the wiser.

And this time, she vowed, she'd never, never call him again.

Rachel quickly slipped out the door, closing it softly behind her. The hall was dark and she didn't know where she was, but she walked toward the stairway at the end and started down. She was positive she was still at his aunt's house—Jesse might have been able to move her upstairs without waking her, but she doubted her ability to sleep through anything more extreme. Maybe her shoes were still in the foyer, she thought hopefully as she descended toward the awful space where both Jesse and his aunt had lit into her last night. She didn't want to spend any more time in this place than she had to. All she wanted to do was find her shoes and get out.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, two very familiar male voices hit her ears. Rachel held her breath, waiting for the sound to come again. Were they really here—was getting away from Jesse and this terrible city really going to be that easy?

Yes—there was the soft note of Hiram's voice, and Leroy's deeper tones. Exhaling a short breath that was half a sob, Rachel launched herself in the direction of the voices. Around a corner and through a doorway she skidded, almost losing her balance on the slippery floor as she drew up sharply, then dove into the warm, solid comfort of her father's lap.

Leroy closed his arms around her and Rachel buried her head against his sweater, giving in finally to the tears of fear and frustration that had plagued her throughout her time in New York. She felt Hiram touch her shoulder and pat her hair, and she breathed in the light smell of aftershave that had always been a comfort and reminder of the parents who loved her.

"I'm so, so sorry, daddy," she whispered, clutching Leroy tightly. She sniffled, hearing the familiar rough cough that meant her father was fighting down his own emotions. "So sorry," she mumbled. "I won't do it again. Please, I just want to go home."

No other words in Rachel's life had ever been so true. She was tired of the uncertainty, tired of the instability of living out of a trashy motel room and wandering around this unfamiliar city trying to get noticed. It was too hard, and Jesse's bald threats about how close she'd come to being hurt had done what nothing else had ever been able to do. They'd frightened her to the point where she didn't want to try anymore.

Yes, she thought, turning her cheek further into her father's sweater. Rachel Berry was officially giving up. It was not a proud moment, but she honestly didn't care. Not anymore.

"Honey, please. Let's sit and talk for a moment." Leroy's voice was gentle.

"Just say you forgive me," she begged, fighting the gentle tug trying to pull her off her father's shoulder. "Please, please say you forgive me. I'll do anything."

"Rachel, come sit." Hiram was a little firmer this time, drawing her away from Leroy's arms. He pulled out another chair at the kitchen table—Rachel hadn't even noticed the room, so desperate was she to get to her fathers—and sat her down. Taking his own seat next to Leroy, he offered Rachel his hand. "Honey, we need to talk about some things."

"I _said_ I'm sorry! I won't do it again!"

"Princess, that's unfortunately not enough this time." Leroy sounded immensely uncomfortable, and Rachel raised wet eyes to look at him carefully. Neither of her dads were terribly good at disciplining her—but, then, she'd never really given them reason to. Was that why her father looked so unhappy now?

"Please," Rachel whispered. "Please, I just want to go home."

Hiram sighed. "Home seemed like the last place you wanted to be a week ago."

"I was stupid, and wrong. Please—you can ground me if you want to. Take away anything—everything. Even my iPod. Just please say you forgive me."

"We can't until we know what happened." Hiram's voice was thick with remorse. "You don't usually act out like this, Rachel. Running away? I have to say, I never expected it of you."

She dropped her head, unable to meet the hurt in his eyes. "I never expected it of me, either."

"Then why?" He paused. "Something happened, didn't it? Something at school?"

"Did it have to do with Finn again?" Leroy pressed. He'd never been terribly fond of her on-again, off-again boyfriend.

Rachel shook her head slowly. No, Finn had done nothing. This time, anyway.

"We need to know, honey. Whatever it is, it was obviously bad enough that you felt you had no alternative but to leave. Before we can talk about forgiveness and punishments, we need to know all of what happened."

Rachel bit her lip. Jesse hadn't asked why she left Ohio, but she hadn't really expected him to. He didn't care about anyone but himself, or anything besides winning. She'd known her fathers would ask, though, and she didn't have any good explanation except the truth. But it was humiliating to explain, and she desperately did not want to. Her dads knew she was bullied at school—the damage to the Berrys' front lawn from TP-ing and egging was incontrovertible proof—but they didn't know how bad it was for her and the other members of the glee club. She'd never been able to tell them the whole truth, preferring to spare both their feelings and hers.

But now they were asking, and they didn't sound as if they were willing to take no for an answer.

"What are the odds you'll take me home soon if I don't tell you?" she asked, risking a quick glance at them.

"Slim to none, I'm afraid," Hiram said. Her fathers shared a meaningful look that was lost on Rachel. She squeezed her eyes shut for a long moment, relishing the darkness for several heartbeats as she tried to find the words to explain an incident she'd far rather just put behind her.

"Mr. Schuester loves everything to do with the '80s," she said finally, opting for the whole story. "So he thought he'd put together a dance routine for us based on that scene in Risky Business where Tom Cruise dances around to 'Old Time Rock 'n Roll' in his underwear."

"Sounds cute." Leroy squeezed her hand. "What's the catch?"

"The first time we were in costume, we were supposed to be rehearsing in the choir room. But the room is carpeted, so we couldn't practice that first long slide in our socks. Most of the club was a little uncomfortable walking around without pants anyway, but Kurt and I went out into the hall to practice. School was over for the day. We didn't see any harm."

"Wait." Hiram held up his hand. "Let me get this straight. You know I'm a huge supporter of the arts, but you're children, Rachel. You're telling me that Mr. Schuester had you all walking around school dressed like Tom Cruise in that scene?"

"Not during school hours. Only during rehearsal." Rachel frowned. This wasn't the bad part, and she really didn't understand why her dad seemed upset. "We were in white socks, gender-appropriate white underwear, and long white dress shirts. Actually, Kurt and I agreed that Tom Cruise's shirt in the movie is ever so slightly pink, but Mr. Schue didn't want to listen."

"So you and your friend Kurt were wandering the halls of your high school in button-downs and either panties or tightie-whities?" Leroy now also sounded less than pleased.

"_And_ tube socks," Rachel reminded them. "Besides, we weren't wandering. We were rehearsing."

Hiram pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay. Okay. Continue, please."

"We were practicing that long slide at the beginning of the dance number. Nobody was around when we started, but suddenly a couple of guys from the football team were there." Rachel swallowed and pulled her hand abruptly away from Leroy's, clasping her fingers together tightly in her lap. "They've kind of been...bugging us. All of us, but Kurt gets the worst of it."

"And where was your teacher?"

Rachel shrugged.

Leroy sighed and dropped his head into his hands. "Do I even want to hear the rest?"

"Probably not. Does that mean we can drop it?"

"Wishful thinking, hon." Hiram squeezed her shoulder. "I know it's hard, but we have to know."

Rachel bit her lip again, considering her options. Leroy still sat with his head in his hands, and Hiram was standing, leaning slightly against the kitchen table next to her. She slowly sat up a little straighter and pulled off her purple argyle sweater, revealing the fitted white t-shirt underneath. She turned in the chair and reached over her shoulder, gathering a handful of material and exposing her lower back to her fathers' view.

"Christ, Rachel!" Hiram knelt next to her chair, and she felt his careful fingers against the bruised skin. "What the hell happened?"

"Lockers hurt," she said shortly. "They got Kurt worse—he refuses to go back to school. I got off easy because I'm a girl."

"You call this easy?" Hiram took her shoulders and turned her back around. "Honey, why didn't you tell anyone? Why didn't you tell _us_?"

"It wouldn't change anything!" Rachel snapped. "It would be our word against theirs—they said they'd just claim we were so clumsy we must have knocked into the lockers on our own, sliding down the hall like we were." She shook her head, trying to hold back embarrassed tears. The worst part about the encounter hadn't been the taunting or the physical violence—not to her mind, anyway. She didn't know how Kurt felt about it, but for her the worst part had been that it happened while they were in those stupid costumes. While they weren't really all that revealing—she'd shown more skin at school plenty of times before—something about being without pants or skirt had made her feel extremely vulnerable.

"Adults are there to help you with problems like this. You should have said something."

"What difference would it have made? Everyone hates us because we're in glee, and I've got it ten times worse because even most of the other kids in the club hate me." She held her breath for a long moment to keep the tears at bay. "I was stupid, okay? I get it. I was wrong, and I shouldn't have run away. Now you know, so can we please, please just go home?"

Hiram sighed. He started to run his hands down her arms but stopped short at the purple, finger-shaped marks exposed by the short sleeves of her undershirt. "Did the football boys do this, too?" he asked wearily.

"No. Jesse did that last night."

Leroy swore and stood up abruptly. He took two swift strides toward the door, but a female voice Rachel had hoped she'd never hear again stopped him.

"Easy there, tiger," Shelby Corcoran said, rising from her chair at the other side of the table. "Jesse lost his temper last night, but his intentions were sound. Let's not murder him just yet, please."

"You knew about this?" Leroy demanded.

Rachel could only stare, wide-eyed, from her fathers to her mother and back again. The sight of all three of them in the same room together was deeply unsettling, as was the fact that she hadn't even noticed Shelby's presence until the older woman made it known. She'd been too intent on getting to her fathers, to the people who had always offered her the support and comfort she now so desperately craved. Sweeping her eyes across the room, she noticed yet another form. Jesse's Aunt Becca perched on a tall stool at the kitchen island, a cup of coffee in her hand. Her sharp blue St. James eyes watched the proceedings as if she were witnessing a barely tolerable play. Rachel felt her face heat as she stepped backward, hiding half behind the solid form of Hiram. If she'd had any clue that someone besides her fathers was in the room, she'd never have told that story, let alone shown them the slowly-fading marks that went along with it. Mortified, she flushed deep red as she twisted her sweater in her hands.

"I knew there was an altercation last night," Shelby confirmed, stepping closer to Rachel and Hiram. "He admitted as much, and he expressed as much remorse as I think he's capable of, so that's something. But I didn't know he left marks." She raised her hand to grasp Rachel's arm and examine the purple splotches, but Rachel shied away and shoved her arms through the sleeves of her sweater, quickly pulling it back on.

"Don't touch me," she said firmly, stepping further behind Hiram.

Shelby held her hands out in a gesture of harmlessness. "Sorry. Gut reaction, sweetie."

"Don't call me that, either."

"Rachel." Hiram's voice was soft and cajoling. "Leroy, you too. Let's sit down again, please. Getting upset isn't going to solve anything."

"What's she doing here?" Rachel demanded, ignoring the request to take a seat. "I don't want her here."

The three adults—minus Becca—shared a speaking glance.

"Jesse called her last night at the request of the police. Do you remember officers coming to talk to you?"

Rachel tried to think back. Now that her father mentioned it, she thought maybe she had some hazy memories of someone trying to ask her questions. It felt more like a dream than anything else. "Not really," she admitted.

"From what we hear, you were pretty out of it by that point. Honey, what do you remember?"

Immediately all the stress and worry of the night before flooded back. Rachel grasped Hiram's arm and hid her face against his shoulder. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Rachel, we can't help you if you don't talk to us." Leroy sounded more tired than she thought she'd ever heard him before. "Do I need to go upstairs and tear Jesse St. James limb from limb or not?" He glanced quickly over at Jesse's Aunt Becca. "No offense, ma'am."

"None taken. I've had the urge myself more than a time or two."

Rachel shook her head. "No, daddy. You're getting old, and I'd hate it if Jesse hurt you instead of the other way around."

Hiram snickered, and even Leroy looked slightly amused. "Old, huh? You better watch it, kid."

"What happened last night?" Hiram asked again. "Jesse wasn't entirely forthcoming over the phone. Besides, we want to hear it from you."

Rachel grit her teeth. She really didn't want to re-hash all of this yet again, but her fathers were every bit as stubborn and pigheaded as she was and she knew from experience that they wouldn't give up until she gave in. "Jesse brought me here," she said, each word torn unwillingly from her mouth. "I asked him to take me back to my hotel, but he wouldn't. He was angry—kept telling me I was reckless and stupid, and I deserved whatever might have happened to me."

"The kid's toast," Leroy muttered darkly.

"Leroy." Hiram's quiet remonstrance halted whatever else his partner might have had to say. "Go on, Rachel."

"Then she came," Rachel said, tossing her head in Becca's direction but deliberately not looking at her. "Insulted your parenting—said my behavior reflected poorly on you."

"Well, it doesn't exactly paint us in a very good light, honey." Hiram rubbed the back of her head, as she still had her face buried in his shoulder. "Kids don't generally run away for no reason."

"But it didn't have anything to do with you!"

"Didn't it?" Hiram pulled her away from his arm and held her shoulders, making her face him. "I thought we had a good relationship, Rachel—all three of us. I thought you knew you could come to us with anything."

"We do have a good relationship, daddy. I love you both! It just..." She shook her head and swallowed hard.

"Wasn't enough. I know. You made that abundantly clear."

"Daddy!" Rachel felt the first desperate tear spill over. She couldn't believe they were really having this conversation. Her fathers had always been her rock—her safe harbor in a world where everything else seemed stacked against her. "You can't doubt yourselves," she whispered. "You're wonderful dads."

"We've tried, Rachel. We really have. But you're getting to an age now where a loving family isn't enough anymore. We understand that. You need to find your own niche—friends, hobbies, things that have meaning for you, that are all yours and not ours. You're so talented, honey, and so driven, that I understand it's hard for you. But running away is never the answer. Your father and I can't be everything to you anymore, but we can and should be the place you turn when things like this happen and you need help."

"You are!"

"Obviously we're not, because instead of talking to us, you chose to come here—to a city of strangers, where you knew no one." He paused. "Unless you knew Shelby was here. Did you?"

Rachel nodded slowly. "But I didn't come to see her. I don't want to see her ever again." She cast a bitter look at her estranged mother, who stared back impassively. After years coaching high schoolers, Shelby Corcoran was unmoved by fits of temper.

"In any case, you ran away and we didn't know where to find you. Jesse found you—_Jesse_. An ex-boyfriend you only dated for maybe a few months at most. A boy you broke up with—or vise versa—without really explaining it to us. A boy we thought was out of all our lives permanently. How do you think that made us feel? We didn't know where to even begin looking for you, yet he waltzed in and plucked you out of the middle of New York City in a matter of days."

Rachel closed her eyes tightly against the guilty tears that welled up, fast and hot, and threatened to spill over. Her fathers were right, and she knew it. But she had no way to even begin to explain the uncomfortable bond she shared with Jesse St. James. Of course he'd known where to find her. He always seemed to know everything. She both hated and loved that quality about him.

"Let's lay that to rest for now," Leroy said gently, touching his partner's shoulder. "I think you've made your point, and I still want to know what else happened last night." He stroked a hand over Rachel's tangled hair, giving a little tug to the ends just as he had done playfully when she was young. She smiled at the familiar gesture despite the welling tears. "Rachel? What happened after Ms. St. James said her piece?"

"I told Jesse again to take me back to my hotel. He refused. He backed me up against a wall and said—" She stopped short, unable to go on.

"What did he say, Rachel?"

"It's not fit to be repeated," Shelby broke in smoothly. "However, neither was any of it untrue. I'd like that kept in mind, please." She eyed her daughter cautiously. "We're all ignoring the most salient fact here, which is that Jesse saved you."

"He did not!"

"He told me what happened, Rachel, and I told your dads while the two of you slept. What would you call it, if not saving you?"

"I would have found the window and the fire escape just fine without him!" Rachel snapped. "I gave in to a moment of panic first, and that's the only reason I called him!"

"Why him and not the police?"

Rachel shook her head slowly. She couldn't even answer that question to her own satisfaction.

"I know why." Shelby's voice was softer than Rachel had ever heard it before, and she looked up at her mother with mistrust in her dark eyes. They looked and sounded so much alike, but when it came down to it, they were worlds apart. She would never—_never_—have done what Shelby did, plotting with Jesse and then suddenly deciding motherhood wasn't her bag after all. And as much as she felt jealous of Beth, watching the two of them interact from the other side of a closed window, she didn't really want Shelby back in her life. Not after what she'd done. All she wanted was to go home. She had two dads who loved her, and wasn't that enough? Maybe she didn't have friends or a real boyfriend—one who didn't call her crazy and make fun of her clothes. Maybe she was bullied mercilessly by both the popular kids and her teammates. Maybe she didn't have a dream anymore, having decided that New York was too big and too frightening—too much to handle. She had her fathers, though. They would always be there for her. She didn't need anything else.

"I don't want to hear it," she said, forcing herself to meet Shelby's eyes. "I just want to go home."

"Let Shelby talk." Hiram slid his arm around her shoulder, warm and solid and comforting. She leaned into her father, not wanting to obey but lacking the energy to argue.

"We discussed this last night," Shelby said. "You and Jesse have unfinished business. I don't know how or why, but we need to give it a chance to play itself out. That's one of the reasons, Rachel, why you're staying in New York for now."

Rachel's jaw dropped. She clutched her father's arm, squeezing tightly. "No! I don't want to—I want to go home!"

"We know that, sweetheart," Leroy said, his voice troubled. "Unfortunately for you, that only makes my belief stronger that we have to see this through."

"Your dad's right." Hiram squeezed her shoulder. "You've lost your confidence, and I won't see you give up on your lifelong dream over this one incident. Yes, you were foolish—reckless, even. But you can't run offstage just because you flubbed a line. The show must go on."

"This isn't a show, daddy! It's my life!"

"Which makes what your father's saying all the more vital." Leroy cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, honey, but we're all in agreement. What's that thing you said last night, Shelby? About falling off a horse?"

"I've never been on a horse in my life, dad."

"I know. It's a metaphor. You like those, don't you?"

Rachel was dangerously silent.

"When you fall off a horse, the first thing you must do is get back up again. Otherwise there's a very good chance you never will. Listen, Rachel, I know I'm not your favorite person right now. I'm not Jesse's, either. He's furious with me about what I did to both of you last year, and I don't blame him."

"You didn't do anything to him! It was all me. He got to run off to California with a fourth national title, just like he always wanted."

"Don't delude yourself. He hides it better than you do, but I hurt you both. I can't take that back, but I can and will do my best to rectify the situation."

Hiram took Rachel's hands and pulled her back down to her chair. He sat across from her, looking just as uncomfortable as his partner. "Sweetheart, what we're trying to say is that you need a chance to regain some confidence, and you and Jesse both need a chance to come to terms with what happened between the two of you because of Shelby's interference last year. You can't do those things in Ohio and, though we hate it, your father and I can't help you. This is something you have to do on your own."

"No," Rachel whispered. "You can't be serious."

"Shelby works at a teaching theater in Manhattan. She pulled some strings, and everything is already arranged. You and Jesse will be working together on a production there, under Shelby's guidance. It's not Broadway, but it's a start."

"You honestly _can't_ be serious. What about school?"

"There are tutors at the theater, since Shelby works with a lot of underage actors. Jesse's classes have been dropped for the term and UCLA is giving him internship credit instead."

"Are you staying here with me?" Rachel demanded. "Where will we live?"

Hiram and Leroy exchanged a long look. A cold knot formed in the pit of Rachel's stomach. She didn't at all like the expression on either of their faces. "Daddy?" Her voice dropped to little more than a whisper. "Say something, please. Where do you expect us to stay?"

"Rachel, honey, there's no easy way to say this. You can't hide behind us this time—you and Jesse are going to have to work things out on your own. Your father and I are going back to Ohio, and you'll be staying here, in this house, with Jesse and his aunt."

"Oh, _hell_ no!" A sudden movement from the doorway grabbed Rachel's attention and she shrank back as Jesse St. James strode angrily into the room, curls tousled from sleep, blue eyes snapping with anger as he advanced on the crowd.

* * *

_So, I have a musical in mind for Jesse and Rachel, but I'm also open to ideas at this point if you think you have a good one. NOT Spring Awakening. I thought about it, and it would actually work really well with what I have planned out, but the idea is just too cliched. _

_Till next time, duckies! Mwah!_


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Uh, have I promised yet that there's going to be a happy ending? Because there is. I just wanted to remind everyone of that before you read this chapter. We've got some drama ahead before the healing process can begin._

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

**Scale the Glass Mountain**

"I'll have you know I have the ACLU on speed dial!" Rachel's arms were folded over her chest as she eyed Jesse's Aunt Becca warily. Her fathers were gone and Shelby had left, too, with the promise that she would fetch Rachel's things and check her out of her hotel. She was supposed to be back within the hour, but Rachel wasn't holding her breath. If she'd learned one thing over the past year, it was that her mother could not be relied upon. "My dads are gay—or didn't you notice? I know who to call when I'm being mistreated."

Threatening someone with the ACLU usually did the trick, but as Rachel eyed Jesse's aunt she suspected the older woman was not moved by the display of temper. "A room of your own is not a civil right," Becca said dryly, "and I'm not giving you one just so you can shut yourself up in it in a display of teenage rebellion."

"It's not fair!" Rachel almost stomped her foot, but caught herself just in time. Just because they were treating her like a child didn't mean she had to act like one. Not fully, anyway.

"Life isn't fair, child, and the sooner you learn that, the better." Becca tapped her cane on the matted brown shag carpeting of the room Rachel had woken up in that morning—Jesse's room, she'd recently learned. The room his aunt was now expecting the both of them to share. "You are here in my house on sufferance—you and my nephew both, and your mother most of all."

"Will you stop calling her that!" Rachel snapped. "She was a _surrogate—_that's all."

"If that was true before, it isn't now." Becca moved slowly around the room, poking at the silk plant and stirring up dust. "I don't like her. She's been a bad influence on my nephew ever since she entered his life. But I'm adult enough to do something you clearly can't—I can see that, in this particular case, she's right. If this is the way to fix both you and my nephew, I'll play along. But I'm doing it on my terms, not yours."

Rachel clenched her jaw. "I don't need to be fixed," she bit out between her teeth, slow and furious. "I need to go home!"

"No self-respecting teenager ever wants to go home when there's something better to do. Hence, there's clearly something about you that needs to be fixed." Becca pulled at a fold of the stained lace curtains hanging in the big window and examined them critically.

"Who are you to tell me what to do?" Rachel fixed Jesse's aunt with her best glare, though she wasn't at all sure it would work. This woman—like Jesse himself—seemed immune to everything she threw at her.

"Your temporary guardian _in loco parentis_, god help me." Becca released the curtain and pulled it aside, revealing the wet, overcast city on the other side of the window. "I'm not any happier about it than you are, child, but this is how it's going to be. I agreed to let you and Jesse stay in my house for the duration of your time in New York because Shelby is right—much as I hate to say it—and your fathers seem like good people. Shelby has no room for you. She already sleeps on a futon in her living room, so her baby can have the bedroom."

"I wouldn't want to stay with her, anyway."

"Well, she didn't offer, so your attitude in this case is unwarranted." Becca turned from the window. "You are here to mend fences between yourself and Jesse. To that end, and to make sure it happens as quickly as possible, you are going to share this room. I don't care if you string a line down the middle of it. I don't care if one of you ends up sleeping on the floor. You're going to have to learn to look at each other—maybe even talk to each other."

"I don't want to see or listen to Jesse St. James ever again!"

"I have no doubt of that. Unfortunately for you, that decision has been taken out of your hands." Becca paused. "I've discussed this with both Shelby and your fathers, and we all agreed on the rules."

A sudden crash from downstairs made Rachel flinch. Her eyes opened wide as she heard loud male footsteps stomping up the stairs.

"Good," Becca said mildly. "Jesse's back. Now you both can hear the rules at once. I hate having to repeat myself."

Rachel could do nothing but stare as Jesse stormed into the room. His eyes swept over her as if she was nothing more than another piece of furniture before zeroing in on his aunt.

"What the hell," he seethed. "What the _hell_ did you do?"

"Tried to use your credit card, did you?" His aunt moved away from the window and leaned against her cane. "When you lost your temper and went storming out of the house, I thought you might try something like that. Did you try to buy a plane ticket back to California? That was Shelby's guess."

"What did you do?" he repeated, and the sound of his voice made the hair on the back of Rachel's neck prickle. She'd never heard him sound angrier or more dangerous. His fury seemed to fill the room, eddies of rage swirling like dust in the corners, and she shrank back against the wall. Normally emotions did not frighten her—she was used to frustration and disdain and even anger being cast her way. But this was a different beast entirely. Not only was it Jesse—the one person who broke the rules of what did and did not affect her—but he was _mad_. Angrier than she had ever seen him.

"I called my brother and had him cancel your credit card and suspend access to your bank account," Becca said calmly. How she could remain so placid in the face of Jesse's anger, Rachel didn't know. She stared wonderingly at the tall woman with the white hair.

"How dare you? You had no right!"

"I had every right. Your father didn't even ask me why—he knows both of us better than that."

"He knows nothing!"

"Lower your voice, young man," Becca ordered. "You're frightening the girl, and that isn't a good way to start making amends."

"Amends?" Jesse dropped the word between them as if it tasted bad, then turned abruptly to face Rachel. "Why the hell would I want to make amends?" His eyes were all she could see as he advanced on her, snapping with anger. She couldn't move—she could only stare as he came closer. Close enough to touch, then a step more, pressing her back into the wall without touching her. "This," he grit out, "is all your fault!"

Rachel closed her eyes against the sudden prick of tears. Yes, this was her fault, and she knew that. She hadn't meant to get them both stuck in this awkward situation. But she couldn't look at him when he was so close and so angry—couldn't be near him. She flinched to the side, slipping away from the uncomfortable proximity of his body, and her hands groped blindly for the open doorway.

"No," Becca said, and Rachel opened her eyes as the woman moved toward her far too swiftly, she thought, for someone who used a cane. "No, child; there's no running away. Not anymore. The two of you have to deal with this. I'm sorry, but that's the way it has to be. Jesse—apologize. That was uncalled for."

"No." His voice was as final as his aunt's, and Rachel felt herself yearning toward the doorway once again. She had no wish to get caught up in a St. James family spat. She didn't belong here, and she wanted to go home.

She could go to the police, she thought again, as she had that morning. Maybe if she didn't tell them the whole story, they would help send her home. Her fathers wouldn't bring her back if she showed up on their doorstep, would they? They couldn't possibly.

_They might_, a small voice inside her whispered, and again Rachel felt the complete terror and despair of realizing her fathers truly had abandoned her. For her own good, they said, but she didn't care about that right now. It only mattered to her that they had left here here among people she barely knew and didn't want to stay with.

Jesse's anger had started the tears, and as she listened to him argue with his aunt they only welled further, until the first two spilled over. She reached up angrily to brush them away. Jesse didn't need to see her cry. She didn't want him to know how much he could still affect her, even after all this time.

"Jesse." Becca's voice was low and creaking—an old voice, but one with power behind it. "You're pushing, and not just me. You're saying things you are going to regret somewhere down the line—things you won't be able to take back. Watch yourself, and hold your tongue. You're too young to understand what regret is, so listen to your elder for once in your life and be still."

"I know exactly what regret is." Jesse's voice was still fiery and dangerous. His fury was hot and bright, though it did not melt the icy firmness of his aunt. "Don't confuse youth with idiocy. I fucking regret ever coming to this fucking city. I regret ever answering my fucking phone when I saw an Ohio number on it!"

"Jesse David St. James. Shut. Your. Mouth."

He did. Rachel was shocked. She'd never—_never—_seen Jesse cowed by anybody before. He didn't look afraid exactly, but he was quiet.

His assertion that he regretted saving her wasn't as surprising as she thought it might be. Seeing the dark anger welling inside him told her enough. He didn't want to be anywhere near her. Whatever she'd done to him—and for the life of her, she couldn't imagine what it was, other than getting them stuck in this situation—he was furious. He'd made that abundantly clear the night before. Hearing the words from his mouth only confirmed what she already knew in her heart. Jesse regretted saving her. If he had his way, she'd have been left to fend for herself when that false producer locked her in a room.

"We don't use that sort of language in my house, and you know that." Becca was still deadly calm, and Rachel wondered in the back of her mind whether the woman ever lost her temper—really lost it. Right now her showface seemed far better than Jesse's, which was something Rachel hadn't thought she'd ever see. Jesse had his masks perfected. "These are the new house rules for the both of you. Break them and there will be unpleasant consequences. Do I make myself clear?"

Rachel felt herself nodding before she even realized she was doing it. She'd never been presented with an authority figure who meant business like this before.

"As Jesse so recently learned, both of you no longer have access to credit cards or bank accounts. I will be providing each of you with a small weekly allowance—enough for your breakfasts, lunches, and transit passes to get back and forth from Shelby's school. The kitchen will always be stocked for dinners; I'm sure you know how to help yourselves. In return, you will be helping me around the house—and I don't mean vacuuming and dusting. I have hired help who do that." She surveyed the room with a critical eye. "We'll be remodeling while you're here—this room, and possibly a few others. You have young backs and strong hands, and I'm sure we'll be able to work something out much cheaper than calling a contractor."

Rachel could only stare. The woman wasn't serious, was she? She couldn't possibly be serious. Rachel had never touched a tool in her entire life, unless the disastrous birdhouse project in third-grade Girl Scouts counted. She definitely hadn't received her merit badge for that particular endeavor.

"Give me your cell phones—both of you."

Rachel handed her pink phone over, not quite daring to protest. She watched Jesse do the same, though his eyes spoke of revolt.

"You'll get these back when it's time for you to go home. In the meantime, Shelby's bringing you back Firefly phones to use instead."

Rachel's mouth dropped open. "Firefly phones? Those are for kids!"

"Precisely." Becca paused as if waiting for another outburst, but none came. "Each is pre-programmed with five numbers, and those are the ones you can call while you're here."

"What are the five numbers?" Rachel couldn't help asking. This was sounding worse and worse by the minute. Not that she had millions of friends back home, but she was counting on at least being able to talk to Kurt and Finn, and maybe Mercedes and Tina. They'd commiserate with her about being stuck for who knows how long with Jesse St. James.

"Your parents' cell phones, their home phone, my landline, and Shelby's cell."

"That's it?" Jesse said it, but Rachel felt an echoing sentiment. "This is bogus! I don't want to talk to any of you!"

"If we're supposed to be all buddy-buddy now, why don't we get each other's numbers?" Rachel demanded, putting her hands on her hips. Her irritation at the utter unfairness of the situation was beginning to override her fear of Jesse's aunt.

"You won't be apart long enough to ever need each other's phone number," Becca said dryly.

"This is bullshit," Jesse muttered.

"One more curse from you and you'll be without soap or shampoo for a week," his aunt snapped. "Don't tempt me, boy; I've done it before."

Jesse was quiet.

"That's better. On to the next item." Becca stowed Jesse and Rachel's cell phones in a pocket of her loose cardigan. Rachel stared longingly at the place where her pink phone had disappeared. It was her last lifeline, and now it was gone. She was really and truly cut off from everything and everyone now. "You don't have a curfew, because you won't need one." Becca paused to let the words sink in. "Every morning you will leave the house together to attend Shelby's performing school. Every afternoon when she releases you, you will come straight back here. Together. You're not getting keys to the house, and I won't let one of you in unless the other is right beside you. In the afternoon and evening you will work on the house and do whatever studying Shelby assigns you. I don't care when you go to bed, but neither she nor I will tolerate morning surliness."

"I have a morning routine," Rachel protested. "How am I supposed to keep to it with him around?"

"Not my problem." Becca tapped her cane idly several times before stepping toward the door. "I'm sure I've forgotten something, but it will come to me later. The two of you behave yourselves, now. I won't have the tenants in the top-floor apartment disturbed. Shelby will be by a little later with your things, Rachel. Be civil to her, both of you. I won't tolerate rudeness in this house."

"Not from anyone but you," Jesse muttered to her back as she left the room. Though Rachel did not like his aunt in the slightest, she wanted desperately to tag along behind. Anything was better than staying in this room with an angry Jesse.

But she doubted Becca would let her leave the room if she tried, so Rachel reluctantly stayed where she was, her back planted firmly against an orangey-beige wall, and eyed Jesse with trepidation.

He ignored her completely, throwing himself down on the sagging bed and pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is so incredibly fucked up."

"Jesse, I'm sorry," Rachel whispered. She couldn't think of anything else to say. He was furious at her, and she understood that. It was her fault they were in this mess. He was right—he hadn't asked for any of this.

But still, she couldn't for the life of her understand why he was here. If he was as angry as he seemed, he could have just stayed in California. So one of her dads had called him—so what? Jesse St. James was not in the habit of granting favors. He wouldn't have dropped everything and flown to New York just because the father of an ex-girlfriend asked him to.

"Go away," Jesse said sourly without looking at her.

Rachel blanched, but after the immediate surge of unhappiness at his unfriendly tone and words, she felt something quiver down her spine. Yes, there it was—her backbone had returned. With Jesse it sometimes seemed to run away, but now it was back. "_You_ go away," she snapped back at him.

"Watch yourself, little girl. This is my room in my aunt's house. You're here on sufferance only."

"I don't care!" Rachel felt the frustration welling up inside her once again. He was so irritating, so rude and distant, and she wanted to throw something at him just to get his full attention. She closed one hand in a tight fist since she didn't actually have anything to throw. Becca had taken her cell phone, and there were no knick-knacks or tchotchkes anywhere in the room—nothing but a large, hideous silk plant and Jesse's duffel bag tossed across the top of the dresser.

"That's the trouble. You don't care—you don't think—and then you end up in these fucking situations. And this time you dragged me down with you. Well, thanks, Rach. Thanks a ton."

"Don't call me that." Rachel's head snapped up and she whirled on him. "Don't you dare call me that anymore. You lost the right when you broke an egg on my head and left me like that in a parking lot."

"You told me to do it." Jesse threw an arm over his eyes. His voice was cold and emotionless.

"You would have done it anyway."

"How the hell would you know that? Do you suddenly read minds now? Try reading this: leave me the hell alone! How many times do I have to say it?"

Rachel snapped. She crossed the room in three brisk strides and caught hold of the strap of his duffel bag. He wasn't watching, his arm still covering his face, and she slung the bag over her shoulder without a sound. "I'm leaving," she said shortly, and headed for the door.

"Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

Rachel marched smartly along the hallway until she found what she was looking for. Snapping on the bathroom light, she winced at the harsh glare of the unshaded vanity bulbs. Still, the light wasn't what she was concerned with at the moment. She tossed his bag on the floor of the walk-in shower, turned the water on, and shut the glass door. The hiss of water on material—particularly the water spilling past the unzipped opening and into the bag—was immensely gratifying. With a satisfied smirk, she left the bathroom.

"I'm going downstairs to wait for Shelby," she said, using her lightest, most innocent stage voice as she poked her head back around Jesse's door.

"Lovely for you," he grunted.

"Nice boxers, by the way."

Jesse bolted upright, checking the waistband of his jeans, but after assuring himself that his underwear wasn't exposed like some idiot gangster wannabe's, he peered suspiciously around the room. Rachel watched with immense satisfaction as the wheels clicked in his head until he realized that his bag was missing.

"Where's my shit?" he demanded.

"It looks much better saturated anyway," she said soothingly.

His eyes widened in horror and he fled the room. Rachel headed for the stairs, slowly at first, but when she heard his furious howl and then heavy feet running toward her, she darted away.

"I'm going to—"

She didn't hear what he had planned as she rushed down the stairs just in time to see the front door open. Jumping behind the taller figure of Shelby, she ducked down slightly and awaited the fallout.

Jesse was just behind Rachel but he pulled up sharply in front of Shelby, not quite daring to grab the girl with her mother in sight.

"Hold it," Shelby said, sounding wearily resigned. "Both of you."

"He's a menace! Keep him away from me!" Rachel paused. "He also swore in the house again after Becca told him not to."

"Narking and theatrics won't win you points with either of us, Rachel, so you can stop right now." Shelby paused. "Who started it?"

Rachel and Jesse both pointed at each other.

Shelby moved to the side so she could see both teenagers without craning her neck. "Come on, guys. What are we, five?"

"He's an ass!" Rachel snapped imperiously, though she shuffled backward slightly as if she expected Jesse to come after her.

"She dumped my duffel bag in the shower! God damn it, Rachel, my iPod was in there!"

"Yeah, I know." Rachel knew perfectly well that she didn't sound at all sorry. She didn't feel sorry, either. "I was going to flush it, but I didn't want to get in trouble for messing up the plumbing."

"You seriously put his bag in the shower?" Shelby sounded shocked and, curiously, a little proud.

"Yep." Rachel crossed her arms over her chest. "Served him right."

"It did not!" Jesse's pitch grew higher as his volume rose, until Rachel thought he sounded almost like a child version of himself. "I have every right to express my dissatisfaction with this situation. I don't want to be here, and I'm not going to pretend I do!"

"No one's asking you to," Shelby said firmly. "But a little civility goes a long way. What happened to those manners I taught you?"

"Why don't you try teaching them to your daughter and see what happens."

"Jesse." Shelby drew herself up to her full height and stepped toward him. "Remember who you're talking to, and be very careful what you say."

Once again Jesse stilled, and once again Rachel felt her mouth almost drop open at the sight. She'd known Jesse and Shelby had a close, complicated relationship, but she'd never before seen the extent of Shelby's influence over him. Whether it was out of respect, fear, or merely the shadow of an old habit, Jesse actually listened when she gave an order.

"All right. On to the subject at hand. Rachel, if you broke Jesse's iPod by drenching it, you'll have to share yours with him."

"Mine was in my purse when it was stolen," Rachel said, feeling a little smug. She wasn't happy about her music being stolen, but she was more than content not to have to share at least this one thing with Jesse.

"Then you'll both have to go without." Shelby didn't sound the least bit upset.

"What?" Jesse looked about as shell-shocked as Rachel felt. "What am I supposed to do for music?"

"I don't know—sing?" Shelby's droll answer did not please her protege, but she didn't seem to care. "Sorry, guys. I know you don't like it, but you're going to have to learn to play by the rules and get along. Until you can do that, you're stuck with each other."


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Hi, guys! So the reason this wasn't updated during St. Berry Week was because this is an angsty chapter, and St. Berry Week was supposed to be about non-angsty things. So now we get to see the first night Jesse & Rachel have to share a room (gasp!). I think the next chapter will have the big reveal of the musical they'll be working on (don't quote me on that!)_

_All standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

**Scale the Glass Mountain**

At ten minutes to ten that night Rachel found herself pacing a dark hallway, reluctant to enter the room Jesse's aunt had insisted she was to share with him for the foreseeable future. Calling her dads had done nothing in her favor—Hiram had sided with Becca, and Leroy had said he didn't agree but it wasn't his choice to make. No matter how much she fumed and cried, Rachel was unable to change their minds. She wasn't used to that, and she didn't like it. Her fathers had always—_always_—taken her side before. In any us-against-them situation, she and her daddies were always the _us_.

Apparently not anymore.

Tears stung her eyes, and Rachel wiped furiously at them. Crying wasn't going to help anything right now. She'd got herself into this mess, and she was going to have to live with it until her fathers, Shelby, and Becca saw fit to let her go home. On one hand, she did understand at least intellectually that she had not acted appropriately when she ran away from her dads in a rash attempt to start over somewhere new. But she didn't understand why her punishment had to entail being abandoned to Shelby and Jesse—two people she didn't care if she never, ever saw again. Wouldn't it be more sensible, she reasoned, to bring her home? Ground her? Tell her she was never allowed to leave the house again? If she couldn't be trusted not to run, what was the point of pushing her further away?

The fact that her fathers really had left her here was perhaps the most hurtful thing of all. She sniffled quietly, desperately hoping Jesse couldn't hear the sound. She didn't need to give him any more ammunition to hurt her with. He'd done enough already.

She missed her dads. She missed Finn, even though he'd broken up with her, and Kurt and Mercedes and Tina...even Noah. She missed her room, in her house, and the comfort of being surrounded by her things. She wanted to run downstairs to her kitchen to find her fathers arguing amicably about one of their signature dishes as they prepared dinner, the familiar sound of showtunes playing in the background. She wanted her trusty to-do list, abandoned in her locker at McKinley, and the paper calendar she kept complete with all the events she needed to remember.

But most of all—more than anything else—she wanted to feel at home again. Needed. Wanted. Like she mattered. That was the problem with this city, this house, and this punishment. Nobody wanted her. Nobody cared what happened to her. New York was just as cold as McKinley; it was bigger, that was all. She still mattered to nobody but herself. She was in Aunt Becca's house on sufferance. Jesse certainly didn't care, and neither did Shelby. All three would just as soon be rid of her, she was sure of it. Just as she'd gladly be rid of them if someone let her.

Shelby wasn't her mother. They'd made that perfectly clear to each other last year, so she had no idea why the woman was so insistent on being part of this plan. Yes, Rachel had gone by her apartment and looked in the window. It was curiosity only, she told herself firmly. She didn't want or need Shelby Corcoran in her life. Her fathers were enough. They had always been enough before. The fact that her birth mother now had a face and a name didn't change things.

And Jesse? With Jesse, things were more complicated. Rachel couldn't deny that, even to herself. When she'd first stumbled off that fire escape, she'd desperately needed something familiar, something _known_ to grasp on to. He'd been there, and when she looked at him, it was like no time had passed at all since the brief span when she'd called him her boyfriend. He was just as beautiful and just as confident as ever, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his black jeans, dark hair just as perfectly curled as she remembered. He had not looked terribly pleased, but she really hadn't cared. He was familiar, and the familiarity had passed for comfort as she shoved herself into his arms, not really caring what the consequences might be.

And for a few minutes, it had almost seemed right. He'd not only allowed the contact but had held her, letting her take the comfort she needed from him—going so far as to call her _baby_, which he'd never done while they dated. He told her she was okay, and that everything would be all right. She hadn't really listened to his words, feeling numb and perhaps in shock after her ordeal. All she'd wanted in that moment—all she'd needed—was the feel of his arms firm around her, the smell of him as she ducked her head against the lapel of his jacket. That had been what grounded her. Not the food he tried to feed her, not the promise that they would go to the police. Just him.

But later, in the taxi, everything had changed. The darker part of his Jekyll & Hyde personality popped up, and before she really knew what was happening, they were arguing. He wanted to send her home, and at that point she hadn't wanted to go. Certainly not on his orders, anyway. There was no way she was letting Jesse St. James tell her what to do. Never again.

Once again she felt the firm resolve that had filled her then—the adamancy that she wasn't going to let him dictate her life. She couldn't deal with his mercurial tempers or the way he always assumed he was right, no matter what. The bruises on her arms were only a symbol of the deeper problem between them, and it was a problem Rachel was pretty sure was insurmountable. At this point, she didn't even want to try.

It seemed, however, that that choice had been taken from her.

Well, she'd play along. She'd go to Shelby's teaching theater—whatever that was—and she'd play nice with the other students. She'd listen to the tutors and do what they said, and she'd do it all while in the same room with Jesse. But their plan wouldn't work. She wasn't going to talk to him, wasn't going to even acknowledge his presence except for the bare minimum. If Shelby thought her relationship with Jesse could somehow be fixed, she was wrong. After last night, there was nothing left to salvage. He'd made his feelings perfectly clear, and she hoped she'd done the same by dousing his clothes. If he wanted to throw a tantrum because he was stuck with her, well, she could throw tantrums, too. She wasn't going to let him get away with treating her like that, no matter who he was.

Taking a deep breath, Rachel put out her arm and pushed the door to his—_their_—room firmly open.

It was empty.

She frowned, peering into the corners of the tackily-decorated space. No Jesse. That was strange. She was sure he'd be up here sulking.

Slowly she turned to her suitcase, which Shelby had fetched from the hotel for her, and pulled out her pajamas. She eyed the dresser with her lower lip between her teeth, considering. Since Jesse wasn't here, now was the perfect time to set some of her things around—put some clothes in drawers—and show him that he couldn't push her around. Maybe this was his room when he was here alone, but they had to share it now and she wasn't letting him shove her into a corner like some lost waif even if that's what she technically was.

But if she made him angry, Jesse might retaliate just as she had, and Rachel fervently did not want that. What if he put _her_ clothes in the shower—or worse?

With that thought, Rachel firmly zipped her bag up and shoved it far under the bed. She sneezed three times as she straightened again, wrinkling her nose. She had no idea dust bunnies could get that big, especially on carpet! If it wasn't so late, she'd immediately demand a vacuum from Becca—assuming the old woman had one. She'd mentioned that she had cleaning help.

"Obviously they don't help in this room," Rachel muttered, looking at her outstretched hands. They didn't _look_ dirty, but after putting them on the old brown carpet she felt like washing them. With an irritated little half-sigh, she grabbed her pajamas and dashed to the bathroom to change and wash her hands. There was no way she was changing in the bedroom if there was a possibility that Jesse could return at any moment.

Thankfully, the room was still empty when she came back. She wrestled with her new phone for a while, but could not find an alarm clock function, if it had one. "Stupid thing." She glared at it, wanting to throw it across the room. What good was a cell phone that only let her call her fathers, Shelby, and Becca, and did absolutely nothing else? Grumbling, she dug her pink suitcase back out and found the little travel alarm clock she had packed just in case of an emergency. Well, this certainly counted as an emergency, she figured. Bereft of everything and everyone—because Jesse St. James absolutely did not count—in a strange house in New York City. _Definitely_ an emergency.

Approaching the bed, Rachel considered it with trepidation. Despite the fact that she and Jesse had apparently shared it last night without her knowledge, she was not looking forward to this. It was awkward enough that she had to be in his presence again, but this was really over the top. She was shocked that her fathers hadn't protested when she told them, but Hiram said calmly that it wasn't like she was still dating Jesse.

"Well, what if I was?" she'd shot back, furious that they weren't taking her side on this. "What would you do then?"

"Honey, you can quit with the self-righteous act," Hiram had said, his voice over the phone sounding more tired than Rachel had ever heard him before. "I know you like to think we were pretty clueless, but your father and I found Jesse in your bed more than once back when you were dating. We didn't raise a fuss then because we trusted you to be careful. We're not raising one now for the same reason."

"We weren't…doing anything," Rachel had protested, her face growing hot at the realization that her dads weren't quite as blissfully ignorant as she'd hoped. "I didn't sleep with him. I mean, I _slept_ with him, but I didn't…do that." She was stammering now, and hated it. When her dads gave her the routine sex-talk reminder with Finn, she hadn't felt this nervous. What was it about Jesse St. James that always made her so flustered, even in conversation? "He'd come by sometimes to talk, and then he just…wouldn't leave."

"Consider this an extended sleepover, then," Hiram had said, "since you're obviously used to it. I'm sorry, Rachel, but you're not getting out of this deal that easily. If Jesse's aunt says you're sharing a room, then you're sharing a room."

Which now left her staring at a garish bedspread on a sagging queen-sized mattress that she was supposed to share, for the foreseeable future, with Jesse. It was big enough, she supposed, that they wouldn't have to touch at all—provided he kept himself to himself. But based on her memories, he wasn't very good at that. No matter how they fell asleep, somehow she'd always woken up with his arms around her. At the time it had seemed impossibly sweet, but now it was a problem.

So was picking which side of the bed she was going to claim. Battered twin nightstands framed the bed, so there was no benefit one way or another. She could either pick the side closer to the window, or closer to the door.

She settled on the side near the door, figuring that she'd have just that little bit of an edge on him if they both lunged for the bathroom in the morning. He was one of those guys who took as long as a girl getting ready, she just knew it, and she wasn't going to have her morning routine disturbed because of him. She doubted there was such a thing as an elliptical machine in this house, but she could manage with a jog around the neighborhood if she had to. Protein shakes were easy to come by at any neighborhood market, and New Yorkers lived on coffee, so that wasn't a problem. The only problem was Jesse.

_Speak of the devil_, she thought, plopping herself firmly down on her side of the bed as she heard loud male footsteps ascending the stairs. Firming her spine in case he was still angry with her, she sat up straight and prepared for the worst.

"And where were you when Shelby dragged me off?" Jesse opened the door, letting it slam against the wall, more orangey-beige paint flaking off where the doorknob hit. "We're supposed to stay together. She chewed me out for at least half an hour about that."

Rachel made a face. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Jesse looked at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Rachel let herself look back. He seemed…tired. In truth, she'd disappeared into the upper floors of the house just so she wouldn't have to be around Shelby or Jesse any longer, but now she was rethinking her rash decision. What had Shelby said to him to make him look like that?

"Frankly, I don't care where the fuck you were. But the longer you play these games, the longer we have to do this." He pulled a hand through his hair hard enough that it looked like it hurt. "Shelby let it slide this time, but she won't anymore."

"Where were you?" Rachel asked hesitantly. The anger was still there, simmering just below the surface. She could see it in his eyes, but the tense set of his shoulders and the way he moved his body told her that he was tired—not sleepy, but tired with a kind of weariness she thought she could understand. The past two days had been hard, and there was no promise of it letting up anytime soon.

"Where do you think?" he snapped, holding up his duffel bag. "I was at the laundromat all afternoon, drying my fucking clothes. Shelby thought it was the perfect time for a heart-to-heart, and we were in public so I couldn't tell her to get lost."

"What did she say?"

Jesse didn't answer, and Rachel tucked her knees up close to her chest, wrapping her arms around them as she watched him. He unzipped his bag and started to put his clothes away, very slowly, in the chest of drawers. The meaning of his action was not lost on Rachel—it was a capitulation to their predicament. He was staying, but he wasn't happy about it. The tension in his body told her that much.

The silence in the room was deep and unhappy. Rachel played with the edge of the old bedspread as she watched Jesse, for lack of anything better to do. She wasn't getting to sleep anytime soon, her real phone had been taken from her, and her iPod was in her stolen purse. She did have her laptop buried deep in the bottom of her suitcase, but she didn't want to bring it out in Jesse's presence. Better he and Becca and Shelby didn't know about that. She was sure there were probably books in the house, but she wasn't about to go skulking around late at night to find one.

Finally Jesse shut the final drawer, kicked his empty bag under the bed, and dropped with careless grace into the desk chair. "Come here," he said.

Rachel stayed where she was. There was no way in hell she was moving. She couldn't place the carefully neutral set of his voice and didn't know the look on his face, so she wasn't budging. "No," she said stonily.

Jesse heaved a sigh and lifted himself back out of the chair. "Why is everything such a struggle with you?"

"Why is everything such a struggle with _you_?" Rachel scooted back until her spine touched the headboard of the bed as he neared her. "Don't touch me."

He paused, standing over the bed, his blue gaze fastened on her bare arm. Rachel began to wonder whether a tank top was really the best idea, and she wished for some sleeves to pull down. "Shelby said I did that," he said, his voice softer than she expected.

"Well, you did."

He looked at the small purple marks silently for another several moments. "I didn't mean to," he said finally.

It wasn't an apology—not really. Not for the bruises, or for the way he'd spoken to her. Not for any of it. It didn't make it okay, either. But Rachel couldn't help believing him when he said he hadn't meant to do it—the bruises, anyway. The rest of it he had certainly meant, and she did not forgive him.

"She said you had a reason for running, but she wouldn't tell me what it was."

Well, Rachel wasn't telling either. It was no business of his.

"Damn it, Rachel!" His voice rose, and he turned abruptly away from her. "Say something!"

"Like what?" she snapped. "That you should never have touched me? That you don't have any say in what I do anymore? Tell me which of those you'd most like to hear. Or maybe you'd prefer the speech where I tell you I _loathe_ being stuck here with you, and I wish it had been absolutely anybody else to talk me down from that fire escape?" She was panting now, breathing heavily as all the anger and frustration that had been simmering while she was alone now surged to the surface again. Why did Jesse's presence always do that? How, she wondered, did he know exactly how to get a rise from her?

"Maybe I wouldn't have gone so far if I knew you had a valid reason!"

That was it. Rachel pounced to her feet, ready to slap him if he said one thing more, despite the consequences. Yes, she'd been stupid to run away. She could see that now. But if he thought that made it okay to bully and frighten her, just like the jocks at McKinley, he was wrong. The fact that she had a reason for doing what she did—it didn't factor into this at all. If he was trying to explain away his actions, she wasn't going to let him. "Shut up!" She heard her voice quiver and instantly fought to steady it. He couldn't know how badly he got to her. She didn't need him to know that. "You were past caring about the consequences of your actions, so stop trying to play them down! It doesn't matter what my reasons were, because you're a stranger to me and you don't get to tell me what to do!"

She whirled, intent on slamming back into the bed, but warm, firm hands on her waist stopped her. Once again she regretted the choice of a thin white tank top as she pulled back but Jesse held firm. "Hold still," he said, and there was something in his voice that she did not like at all, though she could not put her finger on just what it was. It wasn't the command—she was used to that with Jesse, and just as used to ignoring it. It was something else—something that unsettled her just as much as the marks on her arms seemed to have unsettled him. "Rachel, I'm not going to hurt you. Just hold still, damn it!"

She didn't want to, but he was holding her in such a way that it would tear her shirt if she tried to rip out of his grasp. Shaking slightly and hoping he couldn't feel it, she leaned away from him but stopped fighting. He brushed the hem of her shirt up, exposing her lower back, and she felt the whoosh of an exhalation across her shoulder as he breathed out deeply.

"I thought I saw something through the material," he murmured, his voice dark. "Who did this?"

"Let go," she said, twisting out of his slackened grip.

"Tell me who did it."

"Why?" she demanded, sitting down and planting her back firmly against the headboard. "Afraid it was you?"

"Was it?"

"What does it matter?" She averted her eyes, staring resolutely at the dark window that only reflected the room back at her.

"It fucking matters, okay?" He sat on the edge of the bed and reached out, turning her face toward him with a firm hand.

Her frustration with his attitude bubbled over and she jerked her head free and pushed his shoulder, but he wasn't budging. "If it matters—if you cared at all—you'd stop grabbing me!"

Silence.

Rachel stared at him, eyes wide. His showface fell for a fraction of an instant, and she was startled by the horrified realization that swept across his expressive face. Just for a moment and then it was gone, and he pushed violently away from her, backing toward the door. The expression on his face twisted something inside her, and for an instant Rachel wanted to give him the information he'd asked for. She only just stopped herself. It didn't matter, she told herself firmly. He didn't deserve any answers from her.

"I didn't do that," he whispered, his voice devoid of almost everything. "Shelby told me I bruised your arms. She would have told me if I did anything else."

Rachel looked at him for a long moment before turning away, her eyes moving over his form reflected in the dark window. "Leave me alone, Jesse," she said quietly. "I just want to sleep."

"Rachel—" He moved toward her, his actions unsure. Rachel had never seen him look anything but perfectly confident and it shook her slightly. But she shied away from him, watching warily through the window. He was too unpredictable, and she did not want him close to her.

"Don't touch me," she repeated, trying to sound firm.

"I didn't—"

He ran his hands through his hair again, tugging at the curled ends. With a final frustrated noise he turned, striding quickly from the room.

Rachel lay down, not bothering to turn the light off or do anything else. Her heart was beating so fast it almost felt like it was humming, and there were tears swimming in her eyes though she didn't really know why. He hadn't hurt her. She was fine.

But it took a long time to fall asleep that night, and when she woke up—just as she'd feared—she was in Jesse's arms.


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: I'm apparently not permitted to apologize for short chapters anymore, but this felt kind of like an awkwardly necessary one before we start jumping into the real meat of rehearsals and a deepening St. Berry relationship. This is probably the lowest of the angsty bits before we start climbing the other side, if that metaphor makes any sense, lol! For those who don't like how Rachel's acting - yes, she's acting like a child. Because she is one. We'll get some more maturity as both she and Jesse grow into themselves a little more, I promise!_

* * *

**Scale the Glass Mountain**

It _should_ have been a dream come true.

Rachel had enough objectivity to understand this. She'd taken public transit from the early-morning quiet of Brooklyn into the cacophony of Manhattan, and everything seemed to rush at her at once. Adrenaline—the good kind—surged through her veins at the smell of steam coming up through the sidewalk grates and manholes, and the sound of traffic and construction accosting her all at once. She was on her way to a theater to begin her first day of work—true, it was just a teaching theater, but that hardly should matter at this stage in her life.

It should have been magnificent. The achievement of everything she'd ever wanted, ever dreamed of.

But it wasn't.

Because, for every moment of it, she had a dark, stoic shadow, and she couldn't stand it.

Jesse seemed either concerned for her safety in the city or to have taken Becca and Shelby's edict about staying with each other to heart. The angry part of her, still hurting from the vicious things he'd said the past two days, wanted to believe he was doing it to keep in Shelby's good graces and for no other reason. But the other part of her—the part that _wasn't_ vindictive, the part that always wanted to forgive and see the best in people—wasn't so sure. He hadn't said a word to her all morning, but he kept by her side and never moved more than an arm's reach away. Though his legs were longer than hers, he held himself to her stride as they walked to their first bus stop. He let her get on the bus first and choose her seat, but then he sat next to her, which she had not expected and didn't particularly welcome. She was too angry with him to want to feel his body heat, the pressure of his leg against hers.

"Do you mind?" she asked finally, as he took a seat next to her again for the last leg of their commute. The subway smelled like stale urine and unwashed bodies—something she was slowly becoming used to—and, objectively, Jesse definitely smelled better than the general subway odor, but it was too fraught with meaning to be comfortable. Boy and spearmint, the unique amalgam of smells that was Jesse, brought back too many memories in her mind, some precious and others bitter, wounds still too tender to touch. She held her breath, concentrating on the smell of coffee from the paper cup he gripped in his hands.

"This city is dangerous," he said tightly, refusing to look at her.

"And I've been walking around it for a week now by myself," she snapped. "Give me a little credit."

"Yeah, we all know where that got you. I have no wish to talk you down from any more fire escapes, okay?"

It was a low blow, but Rachel didn't think she really had any reasonable retort. He had a point. The first few days here had been terrifying. Most of the time, she'd wanted nothing more than to hide in her hotel room, though she knew she couldn't. She hadn't come to the city to hide, and besides, soon enough her money would run out. So she'd forced herself into the bustling streets, learning by trial and error at least some of the unspoken rules of the city. She'd never been shy before, but this place was just so…so _much_. She learned quickly not to accept directions from shabbily-dressed men with the air of the streets about them. Not because their directions were faulty, but because they wanted to be paid for the information. She'd learned to avoid eye contact with New Yorkers; it made them nervous, and it made her stand out like a tourist—someone who did not belong. To Rachel, who had a naturally open and friendly personality, this was difficult to accept. But she had felt sure, for a while at least, that she could crack the code of New York City if she only tried hard enough, and then she would be just like any other local. Here, she could find a place to belong.

And that hope had remained with her up until the panicky moment she found herself locked in a seedy office room, her purse and coat stolen by a man she'd hoped might give her a job.

As much as she hated to admit it, Jesse was right. She _didn't_ know the rules of this city, and her naturally rash nature made it perhaps a little dangerous for her to be attempting to learn all on her own. She didn't need a babysitter, but maybe a mentor? Or at least a friend. A friend would definitely be nice right about now.

Except the only person she was apparently allowed contact with was Jesse St. James, and she was categorically not ready to contemplate any sort of relationship with him yet. Not even friendship.

Not that he had offered. From the tone of his voice and the tightness of his body, he didn't want to be around her any more than she wanted to be around him. They were both forced into something they didn't want, but they had no choice. Everything had been decided for them already.

When they reached the nondescript building bearing the correct address—no marquee out front, Rachel noted—she followed Shelby's directions and entered a side door, then climbed a flight of carpeted stairs, Jesse close behind her. At the top, a hallway led to a set of heavy double doors. Opening these, she slipped through and waited for a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

It was a small theater, but it was a theater. She hadn't really known what to expect—the place was smaller than McKinley's auditorium, and that disappointed her a little. But no one could say it wasn't a theater. The house lights were down, and Rachel made her way toward the stage slowly. She could hear voices faintly, but she couldn't see anyone. "Hello?" she called as she mounted the stairs stage right.

"Rachel." Shelby's voice was unmistakable, and a moment later the woman who called herself her mother stepped out of the wings. "And Jesse." She smiled, and Rachel couldn't quite tell if the warmth on her face was real or not. With Shelby, it could go either way. She didn't have any particularly happy feelings toward her mother, but she was able to admit that the woman was a wonderful actor. "I'm glad to see you both on time and following the rules."

Jesse looked pained for an instant, and Shelby caught the expression. "I know, I know—I drummed punctuality into you years ago. But some habits are easier than others to break, and UCLA had plenty of distractions, I'm sure."

"_Has_," Jesse corrected, stressing the present tense. "I'm going back. You can't stop me."

"When this project is over, you're free to do whatever you like," Shelby said coolly. "Let's not make any rash decisions before then, hm?" She smiled at Rachel and reached forward to touch her shoulder, but Rachel flinched away. Maybe it wasn't very nice, but she didn't want Shelby touching her. She didn't want anybody touching her.

"Isn't this a school of some sort?" she asked, rubbing her palms on her skirt and ordering herself to stop being nervous. "Where's everyone else?"

Shelby nodded slightly to herself, as if accepting that this was how things were going to be for now. Rachel hoped that was true. She didn't want the woman to suddenly try to be her mother or her friend. She needed nothing from Shelby except permission to go home. "This isn't a school," Shelby said, taking a step back, her heels loud on the floor of the stage. "You've heard of performing arts schools like Juilliard. Well, the concept of a teaching theater turns that on its head. This isn't a school where you learn about the arts via a classroom. This is a theater where you learn how to put on productions by doing so. My students—if you can call them that—are of all ages, from every demographic group you could imagine. They pay to learn what I can teach them, but this isn't a vanity theater. You can't just pay your way to a lead role. Those that don't make the cut talent-wise have to stay behind the scenes, or in the background."

"Are my dads _paying_ for this?" Rachel demanded, cutting her off. "Because if they are – "

"They're not, and neither are Jesse's." Shelby shared a long look with her former student. A muscle flickered in his jaw, but he otherwise remained stoic. "I've accepted the two of you on scholarship, because you need this."

"What I need," Rachel muttered, "is to go home."

"In time." Shelby's voice was gentler than Rachel had expected. "But not before you're ready."

Rachel wanted to argue that she was ready _now_—that nothing Shelby could possibly have to teach her would matter in the long run. She wanted her dads. She wanted the familiarity of Ohio. She wanted everything back that she had given up, and nobody was taking her seriously.

"We're starting a new production now, so you had perfect timing," Shelby said. She looked a little nervous, and Rachel wondered why. Much like Jesse, his former mentor wasn't a nervous person. She made decisions and followed through—she was not one to waffle or second-guess. "You actually did me a little bit of a favor, however inadvertent. I was having some trouble matching characters with my current batch of students and, with the addition of you two, things worked out rather better."

"I have no interest in carrying your sad group of rejects," Rachel said, wrinkling her nose.

"They're not rejects, honey. Some of them are quite talented, and they're here to learn. Don't mock them because they pay for the experience. If you're ever accepted at a performing arts program like Jesse here, make no mistake—you'll be paying for the privilege. My students might not receive financial aid from the government, but that doesn't make this learning experience any less valid. Be careful how you use your words, and around whom."

But Rachel wasn't in the mood to be cowed, and she crossed her arms over her chest as she waited to hear what Shelby would say next. She was tired of being bossed around—tired of always being told what to do. It wouldn't be so galling if she actually found an authority figure other than her dads whom she could respect. But Mr. Schuester so often didn't seem to know what he was doing, Shelby was both duplicitous and cruel, and she was tired of it. Even the bullies at McKinley were like authority figures, in a way, because she and her friends had to either do as they said or pay the consequences. But she respected none of them, and she really did not want to listen anymore. When was it her turn to say what she wanted? To be listened to and taken seriously?

"The rest of your fellow cast members are in the black box down the hall with their scripts. I wanted to give you your roles separately before you meet them."

"You think we're going to throw tantrums." Jesse's bald statement fell into the dim space between them, and Shelby looked at him again with a glance Rachel could not interpret. She _hated_ when they did that. Shelby was supposed to be her mother, and Jesse was her ex-boyfriend—the one boy she could say with certainty that she had ever truly loved. It wasn't _fair_ that they could exclude her from everything so easily, with just a glance. Yes, she knew they had a past together, but still. It wasn't fair.

Shelby chose not to respond verbally to Jesse's declaration. Instead, she crossed her arms lightly and, with an ironic twist of her sharp mouth, she moved on. "You, Jesse, will be playing a character older than yourself. Rachel, you'll be playing younger. I don't have as many adults in this group as I usually do—most of the cast is in the college-age range."

"I'm playing a _kid_?" Rachel stared at her mother, appalled. "No _way_!"

"You've got the five-year-old attitude down," Jesse muttered.

Rachel whirled, ready to give him a piece of her mind, but Shelby's hand on her arm stalled the furious words. "Easy," Shelby said, and the word was an order rather than a request. "Yes, you're playing a child. We only have the rights to two musicals at the moment, the other being The Music Man, and our prop department can't handle the needs of that show on such short notice. I need someone who can play a little girl, and you're it."

"No." Rachel felt like stomping her foot, but she refrained. Something told her it wouldn't help her argument any.

"Yes," Shelby said firmly. "I'm the director, and the first thing you're going to learn is that my word is _law_ in here. You're small, you have a young face, and if we put you in a little dress it should work out just fine."

That tone of voice coming from anyone other than Shelby would have shut even Rachel up in an instant, but she wasn't going to be cowed by the woman who had abandoned her twice. Not now. Not ever. "Be avant-garde and cross-cast the role," she said. "Make _him_ play a kid!" She pointed imperiously, but Jesse shoved her hand away from him. "You just want me to play younger because you can't handle the thought of having a daughter as old as I am. I make you feel ancient."

"Quit with the dramatics, kid." Shelby sounded utterly unimpressed. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way, but we're doing it whether you like it or not."

"You can't make me perform! Do you know how utterly ridiculous that idea is? You can make me come here every day, but you can't make me sing!"

"That's funny," Shelby said, "because I was under the impression you _liked_ to sing."

"Not for you." Rachel had never been afraid of saying what she thought no matter how it sounded, and today was no exception. She'd never had a strong verbal filter, and today was no exception. If Shelby expected to work with her, she had to know what she was getting into. Mr. Schuester might be able to lecture her into playing nice, but Shelby didn't have that kind of pull. Rachel wasn't afraid of Vocal Adrenaline's ex-coach. Shelby had lost her allure in Rachel's eyes the minute she took Beth and left Rachel alone.

"You do want to go home, though, and the only way there is through me, I'm afraid. I'm sorry, Rachel, but this is out of your hands. You made a choice, and these are the consequences. You are required to put in a good faith effort. I need to see you try. I know you see this as a punishment, but if you looked at it as an opportunity you really might feel better about the whole thing. I'm a damn good teacher. As much as you don't want to admit it, you're not ready to take on the professional world just yet. You have amazing potential, but that's not going to win you any callbacks on its own."

Rachel dropped her head into her hands. It was all too much. Shelby was right, and she hated it. _Loathed_ it. She wanted nothing more than to throw this whole stupid scheme back in their faces and march away.

But that wasn't an option. She couldn't just run back to her dads, no matter how much she wanted to. She had to stay and take abuse here just like she took it at McKinley. No one was giving her a choice. And yes, Shelby was right that she still had a lot to learn. But she wasn't ready to look at this the way her mother wanted her to. Maybe she never would be. It hurt too much, and she was too angry.

"I don't want to do this," she whispered through her fingers.

"I know it."

"The three of us are going to make life hell for everyone else."

"I know that, too."

"Can you at least make Jesse bald?"

"He's not playing a character that old."

"I better not be," Jesse snapped irritably. "Nobody messes with the hair."

"We'll be salt-and-peppering it for the production."

"Oh no, we _won't_." Jesse put his hands protectively around his head.

"Don't push me, kid." Shelby sounded tired again, but Rachel really, really didn't care. She was tired, too. This city made her tired. Her adrenaline rush from earlier had burned itself out, and she was left feeling hollow and empty. Though she did not often drink coffee, she found herself wanting to take Jesse's out of his hand. At least it would be something warm to hold.

"Are we done with our respective temper tantrums?" Shelby eyed them both for a moment before stepping back into the wings. She returned with a script in each hand and held them out to her erstwhile students. "Here you go. If you have any questions, ask me now. We're going to sit down and talk about the rules before we meet the rest of your castmates. I want no confusion about how things work here."

Rachel looked at the book in her hand. It was a well-known story, but not the most beloved of musicals.

"Mandy Patinkin's role, huh?" Jesse's voice sounded from nearby. "I could get behind that."

"No _way_," Rachel said furiously. "If he gets to play an adult, at least make him be the villainous doctor!"

"If I'm the doctor, I get to slap you," Jesse reminded her.

"Like you haven't practically done that already."

His silence was dangerous; Rachel knew her dig had hit home, but she really didn't care. She was hurting and she wanted him to hurt, too. She felt almost positive that this was at least partially his fault. How, she wasn't sure. But she wasn't ready to absolve him of guilt. Not when her heart hurt this badly, her confidence rattled to the core.

"Rachel," Shelby said quietly, "you know comments like that don't help anything."

Yes. She knew. But her arms were sore where his hands had gripped her tight enough to leave marks, and the urge to hurt him back was strong. Nothing ever seemed to hurt him—to get under his skin the way he _always_ got under hers. Knowing that she'd never get an apology didn't help, either.

"You're a wonderful singer," Shelby said, "and I know you can dance. I have no doubt of your acting abilities. What I want to know now is if you're ready to be a professional. I know you're unhappy. I know Jesse and I are two of the last people in the world you want to be around. I know you're homesick and you just bounced back from what must have been a very frightening ordeal. But the show _must_ go on. Actors who make it in this city—they'll die before they miss a performance, or disturb things for the rest of their team. My question to you is—do you have what it takes to do this? You don't have to like us. But you have to work with us."

Rachel dropped her head and stared at the thick script in her hands. Shelby didn't seem to understand that it wasn't about whether she could do it. It was about whether she _wanted_ to do it. And she didn't. Not remotely.

But they weren't letting her go home until she gave a good faith effort—or at least the appearance of one. She wanted her dads so badly, and she was willing to do just about anything to go home to them. Whatever Shelby's plan was, it wasn't going to work. This wasn't a learning experience and she would never treat it as such. It was purgatory, and like the Catholic concept, it was something she had to suffer through. Jesse, his aunt Becca, Shelby—all of it.

And she would. Not because she wanted to, but because she had no other choice. She rubbed a corner of the first page between her thumb and forefinger. Paper, just like any other. Paper and words. Nothing so terribly frightening about that. She took a deep breath.

"Are you going to make us ape British accents?"

It was capitulation, and Rachel knew Shelby knew it. The older woman's mouth curved up in a small smile. "No," she said. "You may sound as American as you please. That's part of the willing suspension of disbelief."

"I'd rather be doing Annie," Rachel muttered. "I feel like an orphan. Plus, we'd get to make Jesse bald."

"Enough with the hair jokes, Mistress Mary." He made an irritated face and shifted away from her. "Are we done here?"

"Are we in agreement?" Shelby flicked her eyes back and forth between the two young people. "I'm the director, and you are two of my actors. You listen, and you play nice, and you don't disturb the others. Got it?"

Rachel didn't answer; she wasn't sure Shelby expected the actual words. They'd made it perfectly clear that she didn't have a choice, anyway. She ran her hand over the title page again, tracing the typed letters. _The __Secret __Garden_.

* * *

_A/N: I know several people have asked to switch back to Jesse's POV, and we'll get more of him next chapter, I promise! Happy St. Berry Week!_


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